


Chef Clarke Griffin's Arcadia Kitchen

by Imperator_Lexa (graciepants)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Clarke drinks a lot, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fine Stud Lexa, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, The delinquents run a restaurant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graciepants/pseuds/Imperator_Lexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entrepreneur Lexa Foster acquires Arcadia Restaurant. She’s prepared to rescue the restaurant from financial disaster. She’s not prepared for the charismatic Chef Clarke Griffin.</p><p>Chef Griffin leads her intrepid kitchen staff through the dinner rush, takes far too many shots of whiskey, and tries to figure out what exactly is the deal with the beautiful and reserved Lexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strictly Professional Partnership

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as [gettingheda](gettingheda.tumblr.com)!  
> 

 

 

_ 5:00pm, Saturday, Arcadia Restaurant _

Clarke Griffin scanned her station: the sauces and oils, the glistening steel table, the damp clean cutting board. The chopped herbs and radish twirls, expertly done by Monty, were in their place. Ready to go. She set down her knife next to the cutting board and turned to the rest of the kitchen. 

“Alright, crew,” she said. “Gather round, family meeting before service!”

Bellamy, her Sous Chef, looked up from his oven and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hey! Gather round, Chef’s gonna give a pep talk!” He sidled over and elbowed Clarke. “Inspire us, fearless leader.” He grinned. 

Clarke hip-checked him and continued without missing a beat. “It’s going to be a tough night tonight,” The rest of the kitchen staff had assembled around her, and she smiled at them all. “I need everyone at their best.”

“Jasper, Monty, we need you to be extra-fast on the line tonight. We’ve got steaks and braised lamb going out tonight, as well as out octopus special. Are you ready?” 

“Yes chef!” the two chorused, bobbing their heads in eager nods. Clarke thought they looked a bit nervous. They were younger and new to the business. 

“I know you’ve got it in you. Be confident.” She turned to Raven, who was pushing her sleek black hair into a tight ponytail.

“Raven, would you mind checking on the big oven? Temperature’s been a bit uneven.”

“No prob,” she said confidently, lacing her fingers together and cracking them.

“Great. Finn, got tonight’s dessert menu ready?”

“Sure thing, Princess,” Finn said. His voice sounded a little flat, disheartened. Clarke made a mental note to check on him later.

“Good. Sous Chefs Bellamy and Wells?”

“I’ll keep these delinquents in check,” Bellamy said, pointing a spoon at the rest of the crew mock-threateningly. 

Sous Chef Wells, ever the professional, withdrew a small notebook from his breast pocket. “Checked the stations, everything’s stocked, should be enough for the 170 reservations tonight.” 

“I’d be lost without you, Wells,” Clarke said, and raised her voice. “You heard him, crew. 170 reservations! You are the best of the best, crew. We can do this like we always have… together!”

“Who are we?” Bellamy bellowed.

“Arcadia crew!” everyone shouted. Clarke watched them as they dispersed to their stations. The Arcadia kitchen, sleek and modern, began to fill with the smell of meat cooking and sauce simmering. Raven cranked up the kitchen boombox with some of her signature pump-up punk rock. She sang along with the lyrics.

“Why can’t I get just one more kiss? Why can’t I get just one more screw?” Bellamy, Jasper, and Monty joined in, followed quickly by most of the rest of the kitchen. 

Clarke grinned, and gave herself a moment to bask in the high energy of her team, her family. This evening might be four hours of sheer hell, but she knew they’d make her proud. They always did. 

*

_ 6:30 _

Lexa Foster and Indra Woods stood in front of Arcadia Restaurant and took in the worn brick facade and the rustic scrap-metal style sign. 

“For the record, I still think it was a bad idea to acquire Arcadia,” Indra said. She read off her smartphone. “Arcadia’s Chef Griffin has put out the best food in New York for the last few years straight, but that might not be enough to compensate for a food-poisoned financial situation. After the owner of the restaurant declared bankruptcy, the place is in danger of closing.”

Lexa nodded, still gazing at the building. “You’ve made me quite aware of your opinion, Indra.” She adjusted her custom-tailored black Lagerfeld blazer over her collared shirt. “I know we can recoup the losses from Pike’s management errors..”

“There’s no reason to take on a failing operation like this. Gaia Restaurant is thriving.”

“I appreciate your input, Indra.” Lexa said mildly. “However, Arcadia’s consistently got the best reviews in the city when it comes to food. Trust me on this.”

“I’m with you,” Indra said, even though her tone didn’t suggest total confidence. 

Lexa Foster was a skilled businesswoman and instinctual leader. She was used to people doubting her. She was young, and she made unconventional choices, took chances.  So far, she’d proved them all wrong. Her first restaurant, Gaia, started out as a struggling hole in the wall place. Now it was making big waves for its local food and progressive employment policies. Critics who had once doubted her now lauded her as a game-changer.

Still, Indra was right. Buying Arcadia was a big risk, even for her.

Lexa crossed her arms at the elbow behind her back, straightened up, and strode forward into the restaurant. She didn’t get this far by dwelling on fear. 

*

_ 6:42 _

Clarke wiped the white sleeve of her chef’s jacket across her damp forehead. She was working expo station at the front of the kitchen, checking every dish for quality and then adding the garnishes and sauces to finish it off. The whole crew was working great, but the orders kept coming fast and unrelenting. 

A new ticket printed out and she raised her voice as she read it. “We’ve got two octopus, one med-rare steak. And Raven’s foamed carrot salad.”

“Yes chef, two slimy tentacles, one raw cow slice,” Jasper said. Monty laughed.

“With all due respect, it’s called ‘Raven’s Nitro-Foam High Tech Coleslaw,’ ” Raven shouted. “I should know, I invented it!”

“That’s a ridiculous name,” Clarke replied. “I don’t know why I let you call it that.”

“Because I’m a molecular cuisine genius and you love me,” Raven called, her voice fading as she ducked into the back room to get out her custom-made kitchen gadgets. Raven was unquestionably the most technically skilled and creative cook Clarke had. If she was cocky, it was well-earned. 

“Watch out. Hot pan.” Wells walked by, deftly maneuvering his giant pan of sizzling golden chicken around the bustling workers. “Holding up alright, chef?” 

Clarke puffed out breath. The adrenaline and exertion was beginning to wear on her. “Never been better,” she said. “How’s everyone doing? Are Jasper and Monty doing alright?”

“Good. Very good, for beginners.”

“You’re doing a great job tonight, Wells. I really appreciate you watching out for everyone,” Clarke said. 

“Catch, Princess,” Bellamy said, and set a steak platter on her cutting board. Clarke checked the steak’s inner color for doneness, then chopped a handful of basil and sprinkled it over the dish. She finished it off expertly with a swirl of red pepper coulis. 

“Service, please!” she called towards the restaurant. Miller, a waiter, came to grab the plate within seconds. “Thank you, chef.” He leaned in over the table.“The new owner is here. Lexa Foster.”

“A surprise visit? Now?” Clarke groaned. She hadn’t met Foster yet, and didn’t want to. Not now, during the busiest portion of the night. “Did she ask to see me?”

“No, she said she knows we are busy. She just wanted to look around and order,” Miller took the plate, opened the kitchen door, and cocked his head towards a couple of women standing near the bar before leaving. Clarke pushed a tendril of damp blonde hair out of her eyes and squinted through the door’s small window. One had cropped black hair and a black leather  jacket, and wore an incredulous expression on her handsome angular face. The other woman faced away. All Clarke could see was her long brown hair and the slender cut of her suit. She stood crisply straight. Clarke wondered what they were talking about. 

“Got the octo for you, Chef,” Jasper said, snapping her out of her daydream. Clarke grabbed the plate to add the finishing touches. She’d deal with Lexa later. 

*

_ 8:44 _

Indra lowered the seared corn on the cob from her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She made a little sound of satisfaction as she swallowed. “This isn’t bad,” she admitted. 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Lexa said. She took another sip of the celery root soup, which was creamy and delicious. They had sat down for a meal after perusing the interior of the restaurant for a while. Lexa insisted that the staff not interrupt their normal evening routine for her. She just wanted to see how they fared on the busiest night of the week.

“This decor could use an update,” Indra said. “This faux-space age design is tacky.” 

“Agreed,” she said. “I’ll  leave that in  your capable hands.” She hailed a passing server. 

“The restaurant closes at nine, correct?” He nodded. Most of the other guests had cleared out or were lingering with martinis. 

“I suppose this would be a good time to compliments to the chef,” Lexa said. 

While the rest of the restaurant had slowed down, the Arcadia kitchen had not. Bouncy pop music pumped through the speakers, and workers in white jackets weaved in and out of stations, carrying dishes or washcloths. Lexa stepped up to the front expo station. The woman standing there was turned around, wiping her knife.

“Hey Wells! Or Bells,” she said with a casual authority. Immediately, two men stood at attention.

This must be the head chef, Lexa thought.

“Tell the crew that if we get through this night alive I’m buying everyone drinks tonight,” she said to  a couple of men behind her. 

“Nice. Shots on chef if we survive the night!” the taller one yelled over the din of the kitchen.

“Woo!” shouted a young-looking line cook. Strangely, he had his hair pushed back with a pair of goggles. 

“Yeah, well, she said  _ alive. _ Try not to set yourself on fire again, Jasper,” said the dark-haired cook next to him with a smirk.

“That was  _ one sleeve, _ that  _ one time, _ ” the first cook protested.

Chef Clarke Griffin turned  around. Her blue eyes flickered to Lexa, taking her in in an instant. A few strands of blonde hair haloed her glowing face in the warm kitchen’s light.

“You must be Chef Clarke Griffin,” Lexa said. “My name is Lexa Foster.”

“Hi there.”

Chef Clarke stepped out to meet her and extended her hand. She had her white coat rolled up to the elbows, reveals  forearms nicked with small cuts and burns. 

Lexa shook  her hand, noting the warmth and strength of her fingers. When their fingers touched, Lexa felt vaguely electrified. She drew a quick breath. “Pleased to meet you, Chef Griffin.” she managed.

“Please. Call me Clarke.” Clarke held the handshake for a moment, assessing Lexa with steady blue eyes. Lexa held her gaze.

“So,” Clarke said after a beat. “You’re the one who bought our restaurant. Good to meet you too.” Her pink lips widened in a frank and confident smile, and a tiny dimple appeared in the center of her chin. 

Lexa cleared her throat and clasped her hands. “I won’t keep you longer, I know you’re busy. But I wanted to give you my compliments on the food. It’s clear you are leading a top-notch kitchen, and I look forward to working with you.” 

Clarke put a hand on a cocked hip. “Same to you,” she said. 

Lexa nodded and left the kitchen, willing her heart rate to go down. She knew Chef Clarke Griffin had a reputation for competence. No one had warned her she was this… charismatic as well. Workplace crushes only lead to bad things, she scolded herself. Don’t you dare. 

_ 11:30pm _

Raven grimaced at the shot glass in front of her. “Fuck,” she said. “I have class at 9pm tomorrow.” 

“I’ll take that off your hands,” Octavia said, leaning into Raven with a mischievous smile. “Anything to help out a friend.”

Raven batted away Octavia’s hand. “It’s Intro to Mechanics. Could basically sleep through it and get an A.” 

Clarke raised her own shot glass to Raven’s in a sloshy toast. “To our resident genius and certified bad bitch,” she said. The crew roared approvingly.

They were all crowded around their customary corner table at Moonshiner’s Bar. Clarke had made good on her word and bought a round of whiskey for everyone. 

Wells, ever the responsible one, had run into his catastrophically drunk roommate and left to walk her home safely. Everyone else remained, high on post-shift adrenaline and full of tipsy good cheer.

“Did anyone see the new owner?” Finn said, leaning into the table. “I heard she came in today.”

“Was that the woman who came in near the end of the night?” Octavia said to Clarke. “You talked to her, right?”

“I saw her. She looked snobby as fuck,” Bellamy said. 

“She seemed...” Lexa Foster had only stopped in for a moment, and yet Clarke was convinced that snobby wasn’t the right word. Sure, she had a cool air of professionalism and a sleek power suit. But she hadn’t been condescending.

“She was very respectful. She didn’t want to waste my time. She just complimented us and left.”

“Not a bad sign,” Octavia admitted. 

“I don’t trust her,” Bellamy said. 

“My dumbass rebel brother doesn’t like new management, big surprise.”

“She’s kind of intimidating,” Raven said. 

“She’s kind of hot,” Octavia said. Bellamy groaned. She cocked her head to the side and shrugged. “What? Someone had to say it.” 

When Clarke found out Lexa Foster was acquiring the restaurant, she did a little research. Her first restaurant, Gaia, specialized in locally-sourced food. Foster was outspoken against the sexism and racism that ran rampant in many kitchens. She instituted benefits and a living wage for her workers.  Basically, she was an anomaly in the industry. Some called her a revolutionary.

“Lexa is probably going to make some big changes,” Clarke said. “But we need her help. The restaurant’s been in trouble for months now.”

“Pike’s management sucked,” Octavia agreed. “As long as she can save Arcadia from going under, she’s good by me.”

_ Monday, 12:45 pm, Clarke’s Apartment _

Clarke woke to the tinny sound of her Imagine Dragons ringtone. Raven stole her phone last night and changed her ringtone to  _ Radioactive, _ which was possibly Clarke’s least favorite song in the world. Unsurprisingly, it sounded even worse through her hangover headache. 

“Fuck you, Raven,” she grumbled  as she grabbed the phone. She didn’t recognize the number. 

“Hello?”

“Chef Griffin?”

“Speaking,” she said. She tossed her blankets off and sat up, rubbing one eye with the pad of her palm. 

“This is Lexa Foster. I understand this is your day off, I apologize for disturbing you.”

“It’s no problem,” Clarke said with a grimace. She padded barefoot to the kitchen, wearing nothing but the boxer briefs she had fallen asleep in. On mornings like this, she was glad she lived alone so she could ride out her hungover in peace bedraggled, half naked peace. 

“I would value your input on the management plans I have for Arcadia. Are you free this afternoon to meet for a coffee?”

Clarke turned on her espresso maker and pulled a double shot. “Uh, sure. You free at… two?” 

“Yes. Any suggestions on the location?”

Clarke preferred a hole-in-the-wall place called Paige’s, but she guessed that Lexa Foster would be used to fancier digs.  “Greyhouse Cafe is nice. They have good espresso.” 

“I’ll see you then, Clarke.” 

Clarke set down her phone and swallowed down her black double espresso. She walked to the bathroom mirror and confronted her disheveled reflection. Her hair was an untidy mane, her eyes had baleful dark circles, and there was a fresh bruise on her leg that she didn’t remember getting last night.

“Fuck,” she said. She was going to need a shower, a hairbrush, and a lot more espresso and if she was going to meet with the immaculate Lexa Foster in an hour. 

_ Monday, 1:00, Lexa Foster’s Apartment _

Lexa sat at her marble kitchen countertop, laptop in front of her, phone to her ear. Anya, her head chef at Gaia Restaurant, was giving her an update. 

“I had to fire Ontari,” Anya said.

Lexa nodded. “I see. Why’d you fire her?” 

Anya’s voice took on a flinty edge. “One of the new hires didn’t know any better and put her knife in the dishwasher. It got a little warped. She started screaming at him and shoved him against the stove.”

Lexa closed her eyes. “Was he harmed?”

“He got a pretty bad burn on his arm.”

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ontari always was disturbing volatile, but Anya had kept her on because she was very good at what she did. “She’s been a sous chef a year. Are you going to be able to manage without her?”

“I’m promoting Lincoln to sous. He’s proven himself enough.”

“Thank you, Anya. That was the right call.” 

“Ontari was furious. She said I’d regret firing her.” Anya laughed. “I had to throw her out the door myself.”

“I’ve got to go. I’m meeting with Chef Griffin from Arcadia.”

“I hear they’re a crazy bunch at Arkadia. Good luck.”

Lexa dashed off a couple emails and then closed her laptop. She walked through the black leather couch and chairs in her living room and opened the door to her balcony. She set her hands on the wrought iron railing and surveyed the city below her.  _ It’s just a business meeting, _ she reminded herself. 

_ Monday, 1:54pm, Greyhouse Coffee Shop _

Clarke walked up to Greyhouse just as a Lexa stepped out of a sleek black BMW parked on the street. She wore a silky white button down tucked into grey fitted trousers. The first few buttons of her shirt were open, and her dark hair swayed freely around her shoulders.

“Hello Lexa,” Clarke said. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Lexa said. She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

They settled in a corner booth, lattes in hand. Lexa had insisted on buying Clarke’s. The cashier’s eyes widened when she handed over her black credit card. Clarke hadn’t seen one of those with the broke company she kept, but she knew it meant Lexa was rich. Very rich.

“Chef Clarke Griffin. I’m glad to meet you under more relaxed circumstances.”

Clarke took a sip of the creamy latte. “I’ve heard a lot about you. My staff are very curious.”

“I’m going to call a meeting with all the staff soon.” Lexa nodded. “I find it important to take everyone’s advice and knowledge into account before making decisions.”

“That’s surprisingly democratic for a high-powered businesswoman like yourself,” Clarke said.

“A good leader listens to the voices of her team,,” Lexa said, with the air of someone reciting a family motto.

“Pike could have used that advice before he ran our restaurant into the ground,” Clarke said. 

Lexa looked seriously at Clarke through dark-lashed green eyes. “If we work as partners, we can build a better Arcadia.”

“I’d like that, Lexa.” Clarke said, then added impulsively: “Would you like to go to the farmer’s market?”

Lexa spun her coffee spoon between long fingers. Clarke leaned closer.

“There’s a great farmer’s market near here on Mondays,” Clarke said carefully. “We walk around while talking business.” She didn’t know why, but she felt like getting to know Lexa more. It would be best for their collaboration if they were friendly. “Unless you don’t have time. I know you’re a busy woman.”

Lexa blinked and a ghost of a smile played at her lips. She checked her phone. “I have a few free hours right now,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

_ Monday, 3:05pm, Community Farmer’s Market _

“Let me show you something.” Clarke grabbed a paper-husked head of garlic from a wooden box and tossed it to Lexa. “This is the best garlic in the city. It’s the secret ingredient to Arcadia’s success. Luna ships us a box every week.”

The woman at the stall smiled. “Chef Griffin more or less keeps me in business.”

“Well, what do you think?” Clarke asked. “I’ve given you our secret weapon.  You’d better not betray me.” 

“A good chef inspires her staff and adapts to problems. I doubt you’ve come this far based on garlic.”

“Do you ever talk about anything besides work?” There was a teasing note in Clarke’s husky voice. She stretched and took off her leather jacket, revealing a tight white tank top. She looked unreasonably good in her chef’s jacket last night, but this was a whole new level. Lexa was rendered briefly paralyzed at the sight of Clarke’s cleavage. 

“I spend a lot of time at work,” she managed to say.  “I do ju jitsu.”

Clarke’s eyes widened in delight. “You work all day and kick ass by night?” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Kitchen language.”

“I’m responsible for more than a few broken bones in tournaments. But only to people who knew what they were getting into.”

Clarke’s eyes traced down Lexa’s body. “Wow. There’s a lot of intensity under those designer clothes, Lexa.” She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her well-worn jeans, somehow managing to look even more attractive while doing it.

“I like to keep active.” Lexa stopped at a small booth labeled “Beeswax Bonanza” and picked up a honey-scented candle. These would be good for the restaurant, she thought. As long as Clarke approved of a chance in the decor. 

“You know what it’s like to pour all your energy into your job, Clarke. What do you do in your time off?”

“I’ve always loved drawing,” Clarke said. “And whiskey.”

“I can appreciate a well-aged whiskey,” Lexa said. 

“That’s not really the top priority in my crew,” Clarke admitted. “We’ll drink Heaven Hill or Old Crow, as long as there’s a lot of it.”

Lexa shuddered. “I’ll bring a bottle of something nicer to bring it to Arcadia’s first all-staff meeting.”

“Oh Lexa,” Clarke said. She turned to Lexa, her eyes bright. “They are going to love you.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this AU is very near and dear to my heart since it's based off of time I spent working at a kitchen. From my experience, the chaos levels depicted in this chapter are very realistic. And the drinking. It's nice to think of the delinquents harnessing their skills and camaraderie for making bunt cakes instead of bombs.


	2. Sadness, Sex, and Sazeracs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke get to know their new coworkers, and each other.

**Chapter 2**

**Lexa meets Clarke’s staff and Clarke meets Lexa’s.**

_ Tuesday, 3:30pm, Arcadia Restaurant _

“I’ve got the antigriddle finished,” Raven said to Clarke. “You’ve got to see this.”

“Ah, Chef?” Finn interjected. “The new owner’s here, wondering if it’s too busy for her to talk to some of us.” He leaned in and whispered, “We’re not in trouble, are we?”

Raven shot him a glance. “Maybe you are, spacecadet.”

“I doubt that,” Clarke said. She found Lexa waiting just beside the kitchen doors, politely out of the way of any staff traffic.  How was she always so immaculate? She’d even looked ethereal in the afternoon heat of the farmer’s market.

“Clarke,” Lexa said.  Clarke felt a flush of warmth at the sight of Lexa’s full lips. “I was hoping I could introduce myself to some of your staff if you’re not too busy.”

“We’re always dead this time of day.” 

“May I?” Lexa said, inclining her head towards the kitchen. “I’d love to see your staff at work.”

“Of course.” Clarke prayed that Monty and Jasper wouldn’t be up to anything too conspicuously off task. 

Lexa navigated the kitchen gracefully, eying each station with bright-eyed interest.

“This is Raven,” Clarke said. “She’s a engineering student, and makes high tech gadgets for us. She’s singlehandedly responsible for our reputation for culinary ”

“I basically hooked up a baking pan, a bunch of dry ice, and a mini fridge,” Raven said, She flashed Clarke the broad, satisfied smirk that she got when she had pulled off one another complicated feats of engineering. “It’s called an antigriddle. Basically, the surface freezes food instantly where a normal griddle would heat them.”

Clarke nodded, impressed. Raven gestured at the container of lemon-sage dressing Clarke held.

“Gimme that.” Raven drizzled a spoonful of the sauce in a swirl on the metal surface. A second later, she handed it back to Clarke, an immaculate sage-scented snowflake.

“Of course, I’ll come up with some more specialized dishes than frozen salad dressing,” Raven continued, obviously enjoying herself. “But you get the idea. We’re gonna blow those molecular gastronomy geeks at Noma out of the water. 

“Leave it to Raven  Reyes to turn cooking into a high-tech arms race,” Clarke said affectionately. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“This is my sous chef,” Clarke said. Bellamy heaved a giant tray of cornish hens out of the oven and turned to Lexa.

“Sous Chef Bellamy Blake,” he said, looking her up and down. He wiped a sooty hand off on a towel and offered it. She shook.

“I’m Lexa Foster,” she said. “How long have you worked here?”  

Bellamy’s face twitched.  “Four years. Just about as long as Clarke,” he said.

“Hey Bellbottoms! Coming through!” Octavia whacked the back of Bellamy’s head with a washcloth. He laughed and swatted at her as she cruised by.

“And there’s Octavia, our prep cook.”  

“I’m meathead’s sister,” Octavia said, leaning against Bellamy. “Nice to meet you, Lexa.”

Clarke led Lexa to the range just in time to see Jasper twirl around and toss an egg over his shoulder at Monty. Monty dove forward with a skillet and caught it.

“Ooh, what now, Jasper!” Monty yelled in triumph. Jasper caught sight of Lexa and Clarke and paled. 

“These are my line cooks, Jasper and Monty.” They smiled sheepishly. “They really are professionals, I promise.” 

Lexa’s phone buzzed.

“It’s Indra, my business partner,” she said. “I need to go.”

Clarke touched her arm. “I’ll walk you out.” 

“Thank you for the tour.” Lexa paused by the door. “Clarke, would you join Indra and I for a drink tonight? We get drinks with some of our staff every monday. You can bring any employees that you’d like to be involved in our collaboration.”

Clarke blinked. “Sure,” she said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Polaris Cocktail Bar at 10. Come when you can,” Clarke nodded. She leaned against the kitchen door as Lexa walked away. Her long smooth hair glinted in the restaurant lights like something out of a fucking shampoo commercial. And oh my god… her ass, Clarke noted guiltily. Lexa Foster had a fantastic ass. Clarke couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

Jasper appeared to her left, swinging a cup of coffee. “Hey Chef,” he said. “Watcha thinkin’ about?” A mischevious lilt tinted his voice. “New owner seems nice...”

Lexa exited the restaurant after one last glance towards the kitchen. Clarke’s reverie was broken. She refocused her thoughts. Right. Jasper. Prep. Kitchen. Job. Not Lexa’s ass. Nope. 

“What do you need, Jasper?” Clarke crossed her arms. “If you’re just here to bother me, I’ll have Octavia char-broil your ass.” She leaned in closer. “And between you and me, Jasper, I think that would make Monty kind of sad.”

“Me? Bothering you?,” He backed away from Clarke, eyes wide, hands up defensively.  “No! Nooo. I was juuuuuuust passing through on my way to get some… herbs. Yep. No need to sic a Blake on me.” 

Jasper made a hasty retreat, joined Monty at the flat top, and began to sing in a hammy Italian accent. 

“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore...” 

Monty laughed and joined in. “When the stars make you drool just like pasta fazool...”

“Oh my god,” Clarke muttered. She raised her voice. “Octavia! Can you just roast Jasper for me real quick? Philadelphia style would be good.”

Octavia emerged from behind the range, grinning demonically and brandishing a cleaver.

Jasper yelped. “Back to work, yes Chef!”

 

_ Tuesday, 10:20pm, Polaris Cocktail Bar _

Indra, Lexa, and Anya sat around a glass-topped booth at Polaris Cocktail Bar. This was Lexa’s favorite bar and their prefered meeting space. Royalle Cocktail Bar was the best-kept secret among the gourmets of the city. It was hidden on the top floor of a monotonous bank building. The drinks were expensive but very, very good. 

That night, the lights were low enough that you could still see the night sky through the ceiling-high windows by their table.   Lexa took a sip of her martini and basked in the familiar luxury of their Tuesday-night tradition. 

“I invited Chef Griffin from Arcadia tonight,” Lexa said. She scanned the low-lit interior of the Polaris for a sign of Clarke’s bright blonde hair. She probably wasn’t off of work yet.

“Mm. Chef Griffin. She’s not your new favorite chef, is she? I’d fight her,” Anya said dryly. She wore a green jumpsuit with her hair pulled up, highlighting her chiseled cheekbones. Lexa had no doubt that she could win a fight in party clothes. She’d seen it before.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, Anya.”

Anya shrugged and took a long sip of her Sazerac. “I’m in a bad mood. We had the worst customers today. Spoiled rich WASP who didn’t know what sashimi was supposed to be. He sent it back 3 times and tipped like shit.”

“Ha! Now there’s the source of that rage,” Indra said. She flashed a brilliant smile, red lipstick against white teeth.

“If I see that man tonight, he’ll feel my wrath.” Anya placed her glass on the table and stretched on her barstool with feline grace. “He made my trainee waitress cry.”

A waiter leaned down and handed Indra a drink. She accepted it eagerly. “Oh, good. Thank you.” 

A few hours earlier, Indra had been cursing Pike’s name as she went through  Arcadia’s management records. After the spreadsheets were closed and her work phone turned off, Indra went from scowling all-business to downright jovial. Lexa knew very few people whose workday and after-work personalities were so different. 

“So, how are you liking Arcadia?” Anya said, perhaps a touch competitive.

“Their restaurant is tacky,” Indra said, “Chef Griffin’s food is good. Lexa was right, they’ve got potential.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Lexa said.  Just as they raised their glasses, Clarke Griffin materialized. 

“Did I miss the toast?” 

Clarke wore a white dress, fitted around her waist and thighs with a low square neckline. Whether it was a chef’s jacket, tank top, or the world’s tightest cocktail dress, Lexa had never seen anything as hot as Clarke Griffin in white. And she was beautiful, bright as a falling star against the dark background of the bar. 

“You must be Chef Griffin,” Indra said. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Clarke said. “I looked this place up realized my work jeans weren’t going to cut it.” She checked her phone. “I invited Raven and my sous chefs, but they might have been intimidated.”

“Clarke, this is Anya, the head chef at Gaia. You’ll be collaborating on a benefit banquet next month.” 

“I look forward to working with you,” Clarke said.  Anya gave her a curt nod, ignoring Clarke’s outstretched hand.  

“And that’s as good as you’re going to get as a welcome from Anya,” Indra said.

“This is Indra, my business partner,” Indra shook Clarke’s hand over the table.

“What would you like to drink, Clarke?” Lexa asked. 

Clarke slid into the booth next to Lexa. “I usually start with a double shot of Beam, but I’m guessing that’s not your custom here.” 

“Get her the Single Malt Suntori,” Anya interjected. She leaned towards Clarke. “Neat. But don’t you dare shoot it.”

Lexa nodded to the server. 

The waiter set a snifter of amber liquor in front of Clarke. Clarke took a sip and moaned. “Oh my god, Lexa. It’s so good. This is  _ ruining _ Moonshiner’s for me.” 

Anya snorted. 

“Apologies for Anya,” Lexa said. “She doesn’t take to strangers quickly.”

Clarke was undeterred. “You should meet my sous chef Bellamy,” she said with a smile at Anya. “He’s not good at making friends either.” She checked her phone. “Speaking of which-” she said “- Raven and Octavia are here. I need to go grab them, they’re lost and wandering around the block.

She stood up, drained her whiskey, and tipped her glass towards Anya. “We don’t know each other too well yet,” she said. “But you have incredible taste. Thank you.”

After she walked away, Anya raised an eyebrow at Lexa.

“The head chef of Arcadia drinks Jim Beam? Do they serve Happy Meals at Arcadia, too?”

“Oh, tell us what you really think, Anya,” Indra said.

“Arcadia may be different than Gaia, but I’m sure you and Clarke have a lot you can learn from each other,” Lexa said. 

“We’ll see about that,” Anya said. “I don’t see a huge place for space-agey novelty food at Gaia.”

“I don’t know, I think that freeze-dried astronaut ice cream is coming back into style.” Indra turned serious. “You’ve moved quickly with Chef Griffin. Has really she proved that Arcadia is a worthy collaborator with Gaia?”

“Her reputation is good,” Lexa said. “I have faith in her.”

“I need another drink,” Anya said. “Another Sazerac. Heavier on the cognac this time..”

_ Tuesday, 11:50pm, Polaris Cocktail Bar Bathroom _

“We can never bring Murphy here,” Raven said. “He’d steal all the nice towels.”

They were in the antechamber of the Polaris women’s bathroom, where Raven sat adjusting her leg brace on a vermillion-velvet fainting couch. It was by far the fanciest bathroom Clarke had ever seen. There were hand towels, mints in metal-leaf bowls, and a discreetly lidded basket that contained complimentary pads and tampons. 

“I’m moving in here,” Octavia said. “This bathroom is twice as big as my shitty basement studio.” 

“If this is where Lexa goes for Tuesday night drinks, maybe she’ll get us more funding. I’d love to upgrade our sous vide.” 

Clarke couldn’t believe how elegent everything at Polaris was: The view, the liquor, the bartenders, and the clientelle. Especially Lexa, who looked unfairly dapper in a button-down and skinny tie. Dapper and very hot, Clarke admitted to herself. 

“Fuck.” Raven grimaced, grabbed her leg, and popped a couple of pills in her mouth. 

Clarke hurried to sit next to her. “How’s your leg?” Raven had gotten in a bad car accident and injury still bothered her. 

“It’s been better,” Raven said. “I went to see Abby like you recommended. She set me up an appointment with a physical therapist.”

“You need to take time off to recover,” Clarke said firmly. Raven would work herself to death if no one stopped her. 

Raven shook her head, suddenly seeming very tired. “It was a year ago. The pain’s going to be chronic, Clarke. There’s no point in benching me.” She rallied: “And let’s be real: Arcadia needs me.”

Clarke shook her head. Maybe that was true, but she hated seeing Raven wince and push herself through pain every day. What did she do to deserve such a loyal team?

“Forget about Arcadia,” Octavia said. She leaned into a gold-gilt mirror and applied a fresh coat of blood-red lipstick. “The Gaia team is so badass. I want to work there.”

“Octavia!” Raven protested. She heaved herself off the couch, pain flashing across her face for a moment. “You can’t just leave because you have a crush on Indra.”

“Indra was so badass. I’m going to go beg her to make me her apprentice.”

“But then who would keep Bellamy in line?” Raven said plaintively. 

“Finn?” Octavia suggested. They both burst out laughing.

Clarke wondered what Lexa was up to. 

“Indra seems to like you a lot more than Anya likes me,” Clarke said.  “I didn’t know it was possible to be that passive-aggressive after that much top shelf gin.” She joined them at the mirror to adjust her dress’ neckline. “Do my boobs look okay in this dress?”

“Lexa seemed to think so,” Raven said. “You’ve certainly gotten used to her fast” Clarke didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Octavia added, “You were practically sitting on her lap.”

Maybe she had been leaning in a little close to Lexa when they talked. She had a cologne that smelled really good, like vanilla and musk and pine trees. And Lexa was so articulate and had such interesting stories.

“I was just talking to her about business,” Clarke said. 

“Well, I know it’s not the whiskey, because it’s almost midnight and we’ve only had two drinks,” Octavia continued, with a tone that suggested that she was buying exactly none of what Clarke was selling. She turned to Raven. “I’m going to Moonshiners before my brother blacks out and does something stupid. I’ll get an Uber if you want to come.”

“I’m going to stay,” Clarke said. “Lexa and I were in the middle of a discussion, I don’t want to be rude.”

“I’m shocked,” Raven said. She slung an arm around Octavia, who squeezed her arms around Raven’s waist. “Come on, baby Blake.” 

_ 12:14am, Polaris Cocktail Bar  _

“And that’s how I ended up torching 300 mini chocolate croissants in my first week of work. True story,” Clarke said. “I promise, I’ve gotten better since then.”

Anya snorted. “I have to hope,” she said, but the edge of aggression was gone from her voice. Clarke endeared herself to people very quickly, Lexa noted. 

“So, Lexa.” Clarke said. She shifted in her seat, her thigh pressed against Lexa’s. A warm frisson enveloped Lexa at Clarke’s touch. “Do you cook?”

“I’m not much of a cook,” Lexa admitted.  “I mostly stick to smoothies and salads when I’m on my own. Which is not to say that I don’t admire masters of the craft.”

“You’re in the business, I’d hope you appreciate a good chef,” Clarke said.  

“Believe me,” Anya interrupted. “She does.”

Indra drained her glass and set it on the table. “I’m meeting with Pike early tomorrow to wrap up some loose ends.”

Clarke nodded intently. “Pike’s a hard man to deal with.”

“Yes. And there’s no way I can deal with him underslept, so unfortunately, I can’t stay out late tonight.”

“Too bad,” Anya said. “ I could stay. I don’t open tomorrow.”

Anya tilted her head and scrutinized Clarke and Lexa for a prolonged moment. 

“Actually, I’m gonna go.” she said. “It seems like we’re done talking business.” 

*

Indra and Anya were gone. With the booth empty, there no more excuse for them to be sitting so close. Lexa shifted and and spread her arms along the back of their booth. Clarke looked down at the space between them, perplexed.

The silence between them stretched out, heavy as a question.  Lexa searched her face for an answer: something in the the slight upturn of her brow, the curious crinkle around her eyes, the slight part of her well-formed lips. She wanted to  stay here far into the night, as if neither of them had responsibilities and people who needed them the next morning.

“I could stay for another drink,” Clarke said finally. “I’d usually still be out with my crew anyway.”

“Will they miss their fearless leader?” Lexa said.

“They’ll manage without me for a night."

“It’s clear they look up to you,” Lexa said. 

“They’re so much more than just the kitchen team I work with. I’ve known a lot of them since before the restaurant. Wells and I have been best friends since we were kids. Raven, Bellamy, and Octavia grew up in my neighborhood.” 

“They’re lucky to have you.”

“We’ve seen each other through a lot. They’re family.” Clarke leaned back against Lexa’s arm. “How did you end up where you are, Lexa? Doing this?” 

“I used to work in a... banking firm in New York city. My family’s business,” Lexa said. “My father always encouraged me to be a shrewd businesswoman. He wanted me to lead his venture after his retirement.”

“So that’s where you get your air of formality,” Clarke said. Lexa tried to smile, but was stopped by a sudden twinge of sadness. Clarke noticed, her brow creasing in concern.

“What happened?” she said gently.

“I made some choices he didn’t approve of. Falling in love with a woman, for one thing.” Lexa almost never spoke about this. It was too painful to relive those memories. But somehow, she felt safe telling Clarke.

“I was willing to withstand my father’s displeasure as long as I had Costia,” she said. “Then she was hit by a car on her way to my apartment at night. The driver fled. I found her dying in the street.”

Lexa took a careful breath. “I moved away after that. I couldn’t handle the pain of being in the city where she died. I started Gaia to honor her memory. She loved to cook.”

“I’m sure she would love it,” Clarke said. “Lexa, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“It was years ago,” Lexa said. “I’ve gotten over the worst of it.”

“You can never truly recover from the death of someone you love,” Clarke said. Lexa knew instantly from her voice.

“Who did you lose, Clarke?” 

“My father. He was a good man, a scientist. He died in an accident at work when I was sixteen.”

Clarke looked far-away and sad, and when she turned back to Lexa, she had tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa said.

Clarke reached for Lexa’s hand and pressed it between her own. They sat there in the bittersweet solace of each other’s company. After Costia’s death, Lexa had never been able to truly open up to anyone. She’d met Clarke just days ago, and here they were, confiding their worst heartbreak to each other. 

“So,” Clarke said after a while. “You do jiu jitsu. Does that mean we can go for a walk and if anyone tries to fuck with us, you’ll suplex them?”

_ 1:30am _

They were strolling along an empty street. The summer night was perfect: heady, perfectly warm, with a slivered moon stamped on a silky dark sky.She felt electric and free there with Lexa in the dark.

“I don’t know,” Clarke was saying. “You’re so classy. And mysterious. A lot of my staff think you’re hard to read.” 

Lexa was walking with her hands in her trouser pockets, confident and relaxed. “Do you think I’m mysterious?”

Clarke giggled. “Maybe. I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.” 

“Okay, Arcadia girl. Ask me something, then. I’m all yours.” 

“Okay. Let’s see. What’s the wildest thing you’ve done in the last year?” Clarke said. 

“It depends, Clarke. What do you mean by wild?”

“Does Ms. Foster ever get up to real trouble, or is sipping cocktails with the Illuminati and punching the stress away as wild as you get?” Lexa laughed.

“I don’t know, Clarke. Why don’t you go first?” she said. “I have a feeling that the renowned Chef Griffin has gotten into some mischief in the past year.”

“Okay. Fine. Wildest thing...” Clarke checked through a few options in her brain. “Can I do top three?”

“Yes.”

` “I did 15 shots of Jaeger and got in a bar fight,” she said.

“I had a feeling you might be a bit of a brawler,” Lexa said.

“Oh yeah? Want to throw down sometime, jiu jitsu girl?” Clarke said.

“I really do need to tell you some other facts about me. You’re really hung up on the jiu jitsu thing.”

“Well, what can I say. I like strong women.”

“What’s your next craziest thing?”

“I pulled off a fourteen hour shift with a broken left arm after half my crew got food poisoning,” Clarke said. “God, that sucked.”

“You’re left handed?” Lexa said. 

Clarke nodded and waggled her fingers at Lexa. “Oh yeah. These are the fingers of greatness.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lexa said. “Last one?”

“Alright,” Clarke said. “I was at a club and I met this older woman. She was really hot, and we were dancing really close. After a while I was kind of fingering her on the dance floor. It was really dark, and no one saw. I don’t know if you approve of that kind of behavior, sorry if that shocked you.”

“Shocked isn’t the right word,” Lexa said.

“I’m not even close to done,” Clarke said. “So I said we should get out of there, but we only made it as far as the coat room. We just closed the door and she ate me out right there.”

“Did anyone catch you?”

“I don’t know. A few people banged on the door, but we had locked it. And the club music was really loud, but...”

“You were louder?” Lexa said.

“Maybe,” Clarke admitted. “Okay, definately. I’m very vocal when it comes to some good head. And it was… really spectacular head. But besides the screaming orgasm, the real kicker was that after that, I went outside to smoke with her. We finally recognized each other in the light. And guess who she was?”

“Raven Reyes?” Lexa asked.

“No! No no no. Raven’s a whole other story,” Clarke said. “No. She was one of my teachers at the college I took cooking lessons at. She taught a class on French cuisine that I took.” She stopped.

“Have I disgust you with my wild ways? Do you have anything that can top semi-public sex with your professor?”

“Nothing quite like that,” Lexa said. “I live clean and get enough sleep most nights.”

“Does this count as wild for you?” Clarke said. She stopped.  A warm night breeze made her skirt flutter around her bare thighs.  “Staying up late and walking around with me?”

“I don’t spend every night like this,” Lexa said. “But I wouldn’t call it wild.”

“Oh?” Clarke said. She caught her breath. “I’m sure we could change that.”

They had stopped walking, Clarke realized. They were next to a dark, fenced in park, away from downtown’s harsh neon or the flash of car headlights. A  streetlamp painted Lexa’s aristocratic face in soft amber light and shadow. Clarke sensed a stifled hunger in her eyes.

Lexa kissed her, urgent and sudden. A taste of vodka lingered on her lips. Just as Clarke jolted towards her, she pulled back, her lips an inch from Clarke’s.

“Is this okay-”

Clarke pulled Lexa towards her, feeling the muscular plane of her back beneath her shirt. “Yes, yes,” she said. 

Lexa stared at her for another second, full of naked desire. “Please,” Clarke whispered. Lexa seized Clarke’s waist and kissed her hard. She ran a hand down the curve of Clarke’s hips, laced fingers through the hair at the nape of Clarke’s neck. Lexa pressed her against the fence, a leg between Clarke’s, grinding against her wetness. Clarke shivered, hazy with lust. A moan escaped her lips.

“Shhh,” Lexa teased, and put her fingers to Clarke’s lips. As an experiment, Clarke took her fingertips in her mouth and sucked. Lexa gasped. Apparently she liked that. 

“Is this wild by your standards yet?” Clarke said.

Lexa traced down Clarke’s thigh and up beneath her dress. Her hand circled over Clarke’s underpants, the soaked fabric rubbing her clit. Clarke wanted to return her touch but Lexa’s nimble fingers were overwhelming her senses. She put a hand to Clarke’s jaw and tilted her head back to kiss her neck. Clarke closed her eyes, gasping in the sweet musk of Lexa’s scent. 

“I’m going to call us a cab,” Lexa murmured into the crook of Clarke’s neck.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo! lots of self indulgent alcohol talk this chapter. i do love a good cocktail. also, does stopping halfway through a sex scene count as a cliffhanger? expect more shenanigans next chapter (possibly in the back of a taxi cab. you know how Clarke is.). i just wanted to wrap this chapter up before the season finale this evening....... we who are about to die salute you, Lexa.


	3. Our dessert tonight is Dismay Flambé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which peace and calm are 86'd for the remainder of the weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so fucking long!!!!!!! GODDAMNIT!! If anyone is still reading this, I love you, and I'm sorry. More to come...

_ 2:23am, Moonshiner’s Bar _

Clarke stood outside of Moonshiner’s bar. She smelled beer and vomit. In the distance, Jasper was singing a song. Half an hour ago, she had been half-undressed in Lexa’s moonlit appartment.

This was not how she hoped her night would end.

Half an hour ago, she had been straddling Lexa on her couch, her dress hiked up around her hips, grinding against her lap. Lexa leaned forward, nuzzled her neck, said  _ so where were we again? _

“If I remember correctly…” Clarke took Lexa’s hand and guided it to her inner thigh. 

“Mm,” Lexa said. “That’s right.” Her fingers teased lightly over Clarke’s clit. Clarke pushed forward against her. She wanted so much more.

Lexa laughed. “Eager much?”

“Yeah, I-” Before Clarke could think of a flirty comeback,  Lexa pushed aside her panties and began rubbing circles over her clit. 

Just then, that stupid Imagine Dragons ringtone sounded from Clarke’s purse. She laughed. “Ah… Ignore that.” 

It rang twice more in quick succession, followed by a barrage of text message bing-bongs. 

“Are you sure you don’t need to check that?” Lexa asked gently.

Clarke flipped through a list of possibilities and decided that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news. But the irritating little voice of responsibility in her head decided that she probably shouldn’t ignore it.

“I probably should.” she said. She reluctantly got off Lexa’s lap and checked her phone. A desperate thread of all caps texts from Monty and Jasper filled her screen. Apparently, Jasper had caught a curb and fucked up his leg. A blurry photo capped off the wall of texts. It wasn’t very high res, but there was a lot of blood involved. Clarke grimaced.

**SOS! CHEF!**

**CAN YOU COME SEW THIS UP?**

**JASPER CANT AFFORD EMERGENCY ROOM!**

**PLZZZZZZZZ**

Lexa glanced at the picture and raised an eyebrow.  “Is this something for you to worry about?”

“I have emergency first aid training and Jasper has no insurance.”

“Chef Griffin, you are a woman of many talents.” Lexa said. She tucked a strand of her mussed brown hair behind her ear and cocked her head slightly as she looked at Clarke. Clarke found herself unexpectedly touched by Lexa’s tone. She seemed genuinely impressed and appreciative. Clarke didn’t get a lot of appreciation in the chaos of her usual days.

Lexa stood up. “It’s okay if you need to go.”

“Unfortunately.” 

“That’s okay. I can call you a cab,” Lexa said. Her eyes flickered downward, betraying just a hint of disappointment.

“I really wish I didn’t have to go,” Clarke said. She meant it, too. She didn’t want to leave the heady glow of being close to Lexa. 

“They’re lucky to have you,” Lexa said. “Do you think your friend would survive if I tempted you into staying for just a little longer?”

“I think he probably could.” She shot off a text to Monty.

**Disinfect the wound with some unflavored vodka and make sure Jasper doesn’t move. I have to wrap some stuff up and I’ll be there in a half hour.**

“Don’t worry, I’ll have a cab here in a few minutes.” Clarke let her phone clatter to the floor and wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulder’s. 

Lexa kissed her and then pulled back. “I hate to not finish what I started. If I may...”

And then, smooth-as-fuck, Lexa gripped Clarke’s thighs and hoisted her up. Lexa must be some kind of Amazon in disguise. Clarke wrapped her legs tight around Lexa’s waist and pressed herself against her. 

“Mm, you’re beautiful,” Lexa said, momentarily possessed by a hazy tenderness.

Clarke kissed her again. She dug her fingers into Lexa’s hair and squeezed her thighs tight against her. Lexa carried Clarke into a bedroom and sat her on the edge of the soft silky coverlet. She hooked a finger through Clarke’s panties and pulled them off. Clarke squirmed at Lexa’s warm breath over her cunt.

Lexa looked up from between Clarke’s legs. “May I?” 

“Yes, Lexa, yes.” Clarke emberassed herself with her own urgency. 

Lexa needed no further urging. She took a long, delicate introductory lick across the crease of Clarke’s pussy.  _ Fuck. _ Lexa made precise delicious little circles with her tongue on her clit. Clarke quaked and begged for more, and Lexa licked her harder.  Lexa’s hand moved up for Clarke’s breast, and Clarke instinctively grabbed it, dug in her nails. Clarke might have moaned, or yelled, or screamed... It was all a blur.

Lexa has some preternaturally good pussy eating ability, that’s for sure. And now Clarke was back here at Moonshiner’s to rescue Jasper. Goddamnit.

“Clarke, thank god. I’ve never been happier to see you,” Monty said. He and Jasper were waiting on a bench outside the bar.

“I wish I could say the same,” Clarke muttered. She was still warm and dizzy from Lexa. She struggled to get her mind back into the present to deal with whatever disaster was coming along. The stale-beer smell of the bar and the familiar but unsexy sight of her friends was like a splash of cold water after the fever-dream of her night. 

“What does that mean?” Jasper slurred. “Sad to leave the sexy new boss, whoshername…” 

At moments like this, Clarke had to remind herself she didn’t resent her dumbass friends. No. They were great. And god knows she had gotten into her fair share of messes on late nights like this. But she had to admit, this wasn’t what she wanted to be doing.

Clarke cut him off before he could finish the thought. “Nope, sad to see that Jasper never, ever learns. What was it this time, Monty?”

“He tripped  walking here and smashed the curb pretty good on his way down,” Monty said. “Usual Jasper hijinks.”

Jasper cheerfully regarded his bloodied calf. “Tis but a scratch,” he said, and winced as Clarke peeled aside the fabric of his pants to inspect the gash.

“Actually, you’re more or less right,” she said. “It looks like it’s not that deep. I’m going to stitch it up but it should be fine. We’ll have to go back to my appartment, though.”

After some confusion (compounded by Jasper’s loud nervous joking about his injury), someone managed to order an Uber. There was some debate over whether Jasper and Clarke would go alone, or if Monty would come (of course), of if they would all pile in and join. Wells came up with a plan: some of them would cram into the Uber, the rest would stop by a liquor store, get a bottle of something, and come back over. 

“I’ll get you something you like,” Wells said. “You deserve a token of gratitude for doing this, and Jasper isn’t going to be making you any pot brownies tonight.”

“Sure, why not,” Clarke said.  “But I’m kicking you out by three.”  No one had asked if she wanted the party brought to her house: they had ended the night there so many times it wasn’t really a question. And  any other night, she would be fine with that, fine with the comfortable camaraderie of the kitchen crew.

Going out with Lexa had been so different. She hadn’t felt like she was responsible for anyone, or worried about someone being too drunk and not making their morning shift. 

Clarke dabbed the gash on Jasper’s leg with alcohol. He winced and giggled. Monty watched with earnest concern.

“Okay, unfortunately, I think I am going to have to suture this,” Clarke said. “You did a number on your calf here, Jasper.”

“I really appreciate this because I have no insurance.” 

“I know.” Clarke stuck a butterfly bandage across the grisley little wound. “I’m going to eat some pizza and wait an hour. For both our sakes, I’m going to wait to sew you up when I’m sober.” She tried to hold Jasper’s wavering vision. “Don’t move until then. I’m serious, Jasper. Don’t make this worse.”

“Of course.” Jasper covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Aargh! I’m such a… I’m sorry for being a fuckface.”

\-------

Jasper’s leg was stitched up and sanitized. The group sprawled out around Clarke’s apartment, chatting about the day’s shift and their various adventures. Clarke sat against her kitchen island, a little ways off. Her phone buzzed: 1 new text from Lexa Foster.

_ I hope your friend is okay. _

She returned:

_ Yeah, he’ll make it.  _

A moment later, she received another text.

_ I enjoyed tonight, Clarke Griffin. _

Clarke smiled. Before she could dash off a reply, Finn interrupted her.

“Are you busy, Clarke?” 

She looked up, and he plopped down next to her without waiting for her reply. He had that familiar sad-puppy Finn look, dark eyebrows tilted up, his shaggy hair  half-falling out of its ponytail.  He started to speak, and then shook his head.

“What’s going on, Finn?” Clarke asked, and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Nothing. Well, Raven’s not happy with me,” he said.

“Then you should talk to her about it,” she said gently.

“Clarke...” he said. “I have to get this off my chest. I still think of you all the time.”

_ And this evening had started out so well. _

“I know, Finn,” she said. She was not happy to be revisiting this archaic memory. One fumbling kiss a long time ago while Finn and Raven were in the uncertain beginning stages of their relationship. Technically no foul play, but Clarke regretted it. Especially because of the pining lazer-beam stares and occasional declarations like this. “There’s nothing more to be said, really. Whatever you are thinking about is long past.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Finn said softly. 

Clarke was so tired of this, but she tried to summon a firm but kind tone. “You have to accept that it is. This isn’t fair to Raven or good for you.” She unfolded her legs and got up. “Would you mind asking the gang to go home? I’m really tired.”

Finn swallowed hard. “Yeah, of course.”

_ Wednesday, 7:00pm, Arcadia restaurant _

As weeknight shifts went, this was not a good one. Finn showed up two hours late, scowling and tired. She’d had Raven help him catch up on his prep before the shift, since they were usually stellar partners. That had been a mistake: she found them quarreling over a uncooked bowl of cake batter. Since then, Finn had been getting orders wrong, sending them up burnt, late, or not at all.

“Finn,” Clarke shouted over the din. “Where’s the creme brulee for table 20? It’s been a half hour!”

“We’re out,” Finn said. “Sorry.”

Clarke put down her knife. “Come on, Finn, if they were 86’d, I needed to know that half an hour ago!” She took a deep breath. “Can you go make some more? I’ll have the server apologize and send out some cake.”

“Sure,” he said flatly. Clarke resisted the urge to yell at him to hurry. She’d never seen him this distressed before, and yelling wouldn’t help. She turned back to her station, brows knitted.

Raven walked up to Clarke’s station and slammed a plate down so hard that the flash-frozen mango slivers toppled over. “Goddamnit. I’m sorry,” she said, and went to fix them. Clarke put a hand on her sleeve. “Let me,” she said, and deftly tidied them back up. “You okay?” 

Raven leaved down against the table, eyes closed in frustration.

“Yes,” Raven said. “I don’t know. Finn’s driving me up the wall, but I shouldn’t be letting that affect me.”

“Do you know what’s going on with him?” Clarke said. 

“I don’t know. He’s moody. I love him but he doesn’t hold up well under pressure. Maybe you can talk to him.” Raven 

Clarke was exhausted, stressed, and felt like crawling under a blanket and staying there for a week. 

Instead, she called Finn to the walk-in cooler.

“What’s going on?” she said. “You’re not yourself, Finn.”

His nostrils were flared in quick breaths, his mouth was a tight line. He wouldn’t meet her eye at first.

“Are you okay? Are you having an anxiety attack?”

Finn looked at her, eyes shining with tears.

“Clarke,” he said. He stepped forward and reached to touch her face. His voice sounded sad, and tired.  “God, I miss you, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that!” Clarke said, and tore away from his touch. Finn immediately stepped back, his hands up. Clarke softened her voice. “You don’t mean that, Finn. You’re upset.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head in disgust at himself. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Clarke felt a deep sorrow for the boy in front of her. She composed herself and spoke to him steadily. “You should go home. We have enough staff, we can handle tonight. Rest up for tomorrow night.”

He gave Clarke one last mournful look and then left her standing in the cooler alone.

About 15 seconds later, Wells opened the door with a paper in his hand. “The woman who applied a week ago is here for her interview.”

“I forgot about that,” Clarke said distantly, then forced herself to focus. “Right. Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Wells hesitated. “I can conduct the interview. Or handle the expo while you talk to her. Whatever would be easier for you.”

Clarke didn’t know how Wells was so reliably helpful and reassuring. Bellamy provided the bad-cop direction when necessary, but Sous Chef Wells was the calm center of the Arcadia kitchen. 

“If you’ll handle expo, I’ll do the interview. Can you tell Octavia to handle the desserts for the rest of the night? I’ll come help her when I’m done.”

“Sure, Chef.”

As she looked at his concerned face, Clarke felt a rush of gratitude for him. She was pretty sure that without him, Arcadia would have descended into chaos long ago.

“That’s right, I remember her.” Clarke felt like order had been restored. “Thanks, Wells. You’re the best. No, really, you are the best.” She paused after opening the door. “What was the applicant’s name again?”

Wells leafed through the papers in his hand. “It was something unusual. Let me see… Here we it is. Ontari.”

“Ontari,” Clarke repeated. “Okay.” Hopefully this one would add a little stability to their chaotic kitchen. 

 

_ Thursday, 3pm, Arcadia restaurant _

Wells and Bellamy sat on milk crates outside the restaurant, dazed from the morning rush. Wells wrestled with a crackly package of Reeses while Bellamy nursed a cigarette.

“I don’t like Lexa,” Bellamy said after a silence.

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Wells said. “Peanutbutter cup?”

Bellamy sighed. “Yeah.” He popped a peanutbutter cup into his mouth and chewed sulkily.

“She’s just not like us,” he said. “Taking Clarke up to some expensive cocktail bar.”

“I missed her other night too,” Wells said. “But she came back for us.”

“Clarke doesn’t do fancy shit. She’s ours. You know what I mean. Why is Lexa so interested in her?”

“They do run the restaurant together.” Wells shrugged. “And you can’t blame Lexa if she has a little crush on Clarke.”

Wells gave Bellamy a meaningful glance. Bellamy waved it away.

“You’ll probably be over this Lexa grudge in a week,” Wells continued. “You didn’t have a good first impression of me at first either. And now…?”

“I don’t have to like her. And I still don’t like you.” Bellamy said. “You’re a goddamn nerd.”

“And you’re a dickhead who yells all the time,” Wells said, maintaining his serious visage. He reached over and picked at a fried smear of something on Bellamy’s sleeve. “And you always have gross stuff crusted on you. What is that?”

“Ugh.” Bellamy batted Well’s hand away.  “Let’s see if some of the others from morning shift want to get food.”

_ An hour later _

An hour later, Wells, Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, and Monty were crammed into a four-person booth in  _ International Vietnam, _ their favorite lunch restaurant. Raven and Octavia  rushed ahead and slid into a seat next to each other instantly, and then scooted to let Monty next to them. Wells and Bellamy protested, but somehow squashed themselves into the narrow plastic seat next to them. 

Marie, the restaurant’s only waiter, came up to the table and put her hands on her hips. “It’s you again,” she said by way of greeting. 

Marie was middle-aged but sprightly. Various combinations of the Arcadia kitchen gang showed up for Bahn Mi and beer multiple times a week. “The usuals for you all?” she asked, sweeping her hand over the group.

“Yes please Marie,” Octavia answered. The rest nodded.

Marie returned with the Bahn Mi sandwiches and beers. Marie shook her pen at them. “You all eat too much bread,” she said. “You’ll all get fat.”

Octavia took a huge bite of her sandwich. “It’s worth it to see your beautiful face, Marie!”

Marie snorted. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

The group chewed their sandwiches in silence for a good five minutes. 

After a sufficient amount of sandwich fortification, Monty said:

“I really, really love this sandwich. This sandwich literally breathed life into my dying body. I was a french-fry scented husk of a person before this beautiful baguette full of pork and sugar and grease.”

“If I could, I’d trade my last 5  bar hookups for like one of these sandwiches. One!” Octavia said.

“I would blend this sandwich up and use it to flavor my bong water,” Monty said, and waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh. Ugh,” Octavia said.

“Monty, too far,” Wells said. He shuddered comically. “That’s disgusting.”

“That’s a great idea. I dare you to actually do that,” Bellamy said. Monty squinted.

“I just might.”

“Oh, I know you would.  Truth or dare brings out Monty’s wild side,” Octavia said. “Remember that time we played last month?”

Monty covered his face with his hands. “No,” he said. “Nooooo.”

“You and Jasper stripped down to your underwear and recreated the Anaconda music video,” Bellamy said. “Badly.” 

Wells laughed. “Hey, we agreed to collectively forget that. As I remember, I had to delete the footage off your phone. Let poor Monty have a future without worrying about that popping up on youtube.”

“Always responsible,” Bellamy sighed. “Goddamnit, Wells.”

“Are you kidding? I was this close to convincing Wells to play strip beer pong!” Octavia said. “We gotta have a rematch.”

Wells crossed his arms and struck a faux-affronted expression. “You could never convince me to do such a thing. You must be mis-remembering.”

“Am I mis-remembering you and Bellamy disappearing into the laundry room together?” Monty said slyly. 

Bellamy threw his hands in the air. Wells just smiled.

“Whoa! Whoa! WHOA!” Octavia watched in amusement as her brother stammered, his bravado evaporated.  “So now we’re just… just all really calling each other out, are we, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Monty said. “Were you folding laundry in there? Or was was more of a clothes crumpled on the floor situation?”

“I can neither confirm or deny anything,” Wells said coolly. “It was a chef meeting.”

Bellamy crossed his arms and nodded. “Yeah, Monty. Above your pay grade.”

Octavia searched back through the haze of that night. She recalled some sort of twister like activity, maybe a bout of wrestling? It had all gotten kind of blurry around midnight. She knew she personally woke up with a crisscross of tally marks on her arm and the inscription “Kitch $quad” scrawled on her boob in Raven’s handwriting. 

“Hey Raven! You doing okay?”

“Not the best,” Raven said, her voice low and flat. She twiddled a piece of carrot between her fingers. Octavia leaned across the table and cocked her head to look at Raven’s downturned face. Something about seeing Raven suffering glumly made her really, really sad. She just wanted to fix it right away so that Raven would smile sunnily and banter with her again. Unfortunately, Octavia Blake wasn’t great at sad feelings talk.  

Instead, she pouted and walked two fingers across the table over to Raven, then gently poked her arm. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing important,” Raven said, with a half-hearted smile and shrug. “Really. I’m fine.” 

Octavia let it drop. She felt like a useless friend. 

“Is Jasper doing okay?” Wells leaned over Bellamy to ask Monty. Monty laughed.

“Course he is! That idiot could survive anything.”

“If he has you to watch out for him,” Wells added. “He’s been increasingly erratic. I’m almost worried about the kid.”

Raven excused herself early, mumbling something about homework. Octavia waited a moment and then followed her outside. Raven was walking away fast, hunched, hoodie over her head. When Octavia caught up and touched her arm, Raven hurriedly wiped her face on a hoodie sleeve before turning to her. 

“I know something’s wrong.” Octavia  blurted. “I know something is. Raven, come on…”

“You’re sweet, O,” Raven said weakly. “I should go study.” Raven, always wanting to hide her own pain for others.

“Something with Finn?” 

That did it. Raven’s faced crumpled and she nodded. Octavia pulled her into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, babe. I don’t know if you want to talk, but... do you want to at least come study at my house or something? We could play video games and have a beer after.”

Raven nodded into Octavia’s shoulder.  Octavia gave her another squeeze, grateful to have broken through. She didn’t know how to make everything better, but maybe Fallout 4 and blankets and hot coffee would start.


	4. Whet the appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's hungry... for some sweet, sweet teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up to own fic 4 months late with starbucks*  
> this is a short short chapter, i just wanted to get something out  
> i've been a real disaster at updating this but i want to take it to its pan-seared conclusion  
> so i set up a post schedule  
> details at the bottom

Thursday, 11am Gaia

 

Lexa arrived right on the hour to meet with Anya after her morning shift. Anya grinned at her. “A moment, Lexa?” she asked, elbow-deep in a roasted sow’s ribcage. Lexa nodded and watched as Anya made short, skillful work of the fragrant meat and bone. She was training a new employee, who watched in fascination as Anya explained her techniques. 

“This is good quality organic meat. See how flavorful? The key is to make sure not to mangle it before plating. It’s very tender. Now you try.”

Anya towelled her hands off and watched for a few moments while the rookie cook wrestled with the meat. 

“Good enough. No need to hack at it with the knife. Ask a sous chef if you need help.”

The newbie gave a wide-eyed thank-you, doubtless a little starstruck to get any praise from the strict Anya. 

“How is your new hire?” Lexa asked when Anya sidled over. 

“Promising,” Anya said. “A solid  _ stage, _ seems to learn fast. Timid, but none of Ontario's attitude problems so far.”

“If he has the potential to be great, there’s no one more qualified to bring it out than you, Anya.”

Anya grinned wolfishly and agreed. 

 

A few minutes later, Anya had shucked off her chef’s whites and made them both black coffees. They sat at a table in the small office in the back of Chef’s Riches like they had done so many times before. Anya and Lexa’s collaboration was natural and easy. 

“So, what are we going to do for our collaboration with the Little Restaurant That Could?” Anya said.

“I want you and Chef Griffin to come up with a menu together. If you combine the best traits out of both of your kitchens, we can come up with a noteworthy menu that will  impress the well-connected patrons. This is more than just a catering job. This is an opportunity to give Arcadia’s reputation a boost and earn them a second chance to win prestige with the city’s critics.”

“We aren’t a charity for mediocre chefs, Lexa!”

“No, and that’s not what I’m suggesting. They suffered under deplorable management, but their food is  very good. You could learn some new techniques to incorporate into Gaia.”

Anya snorted.

“It’s one banquet. It needs to be spectacular, and I know you and Chef Griffin can pull it off.This won’t be a waste of time, Anya.”

Anya dropped the snark from her voice for a moment. “Lexa. We’ve been through  hell together building Gaia up. After everything we’ve done, I don’t want to risk associating our name with a badly-reviewed banquet.”

There it was. Beneath the snark, Anya cared a lot. Lexa knew this.

“I know, Anya. We are not going to fail. I need you to do your best for this. I know you can.”

Anya’s dark, steely gaze softened. “If you say so, Lexa. You’ve had crazier ideas in the past.”

“Like this restaurant,” Lexa said. 

“Yeah, your father didn’t think that was gonna happen, and now look,” Anya said.

“Indeed.”

The two of them sat in comfortable silence. Lexa allowed herself a moment of hopeful satisfaction. Great things were coming into place here, she knew it in her gut. 

 

Thursday, 7pm, Kroger

 

Clarke stood in the produce aisle, quickly shifting through a pile of mangos. This one was too  bruised, that one too hard. After a minute of searching, she found one with the perfect sweet perfumed ripeness she was looking for, and lobbed it into her basket with satisfaction. The morning clerks at the kroger were used to this intense young women who spent her free evenings scouring the shelves for the perfect zucchini.

But before she could move on to the vegetables, her phone dinged.

A text from Lexa, she noted with excitement. It was weird… they’d banged, Lexa had chivalrously got her a cab and texted to make sure she was okay, and then... radio silence for two days. 

Clarke wished she could say she hadn’t given it too much thought. She had, though. She’d replayed certain parts of the night in lush technicolor detail in particular, over and over again. 

 

**I have a request for you.**

**If time allows. If not, feel free to decline.**

 

Clarke grinned and typed:

_ What kind of request? ;) _

She paused, deleted the winkey smiley face, and then pressed send.

Clarke watched as the little bubble on her phone indicated that Lexa was typing and retyping her next text. 

**Could you conceptualize some new dishes that best represent Arcadia’s cuisine for the banquet? Anya will do the same if you’re willing. Then you could combine them into a multi-course meal.**

Clarke puffed a breath out. 

_ Of course, that would be a good idea. I’ll brainstorm tonight. _

**Thank you. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.**

Well, that was weirdly formal. Of course, Lexa was like that before. So were they just playing this cool now?

Clarke felt a little disappointed. But then again, they were running a restaurant together. Of course it couldn’t be all late-night kissing and intimate little chats. The question was, did Lexa regret the hookup? Why hadn’t she mentioned it?

_ Come by the restaurant tomorrow afternoon to try the dishes? _

Lexa answered instantly.

**Of course.**

Okay. Ambiguous texting aside, Clarke thought that if she could only get Lexa back to Arcadia, she would stand a fairly good chance of figuring out her motivations. Maybe Lexa was a heartless playgirl who saw this as nothing more than an ill-advised hookup. They could figure it out over dinner like two mature adults, right? 

  
  
  


Thursday, 8:20pm, Jiu Jitsu Studio

 

Lexa grunted loudly as her head bounced against the floor of the ju jitsu studio. Her instructor had slammed her down with a standard arm bar. She slapped the mat to be released and sprang back up to position. 

Her instructor shook his head. Lexa felt just as disappointed.

She nodded curtly. This time she anticipated his move. When he grabbed for her, she grabbed the collar of his gi and swept his legs with a swift kick. A millisecond later, the instructor lay flat-backed on the mat with his head in the crook of Lexa’s elbow. He coughed, eyes bugging out, and then slapped the mat.

Lexa gave a tiny smile and released him. 

“That’s what I would expect from a Foster,” the instructor said. “Ruthless.”

Lexa said nothing. There was no point in hashing out family conflicts to this instructor, but the comment needled her on her drive home from the studio. Her father had started her in ju jitsu classes at a very young age because he said they taught her discipline and to trust her instincts. He loved to practice with her and correct her technique. The fact that she had daily practice with a 6 foot tall CEO made her a bit of a terror to her age group in the children’s tournaments. When Lexa and her father fell out a few years ago, Lexa kept up the training. The comparison reminded her that as much as she hated him, she was Titus Foster’s daughter. She had inherited his taste for the brief, savage interplay of a jiu jitsu match. Unfortunate to share something in common with that severe, angry man.

Lexa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. 

The needling anger stayed until she had gotten home to her post-workout shower. She relaxed a little as the steamy water pelted her exhausted muscles. Just because she enjoyed the endorphins of a workout and the satisfaction of sparring didn’t mean she was like Titus. She didn’t have to be cruel or commandeering like he was. The resemblance had hard limits: Obviously his homophobia hadn’t deterred her from growing up to be a lesbian. 

As demonstrated by Lexa’s activities with Clarke the previous night. Yes, Lexa was very gay indeed. 

The memory of Clarke’s salty-sweet taste filled Lexa’s head. Before she consciously realized it, she was grinding her fingers against her clit to the thought of Clarke moaning, bucking against her as she came-

Lexa gasped and came hard.

 

Friday, 5am, Arcadia Restaurant

  
  


Clarke arrayed the blush-pink scallops across the plate, admiring the delicate golden broil marks on top. She’d already spooned a zigzag of cayenne beurre blanc across the white porcelain backdrop of the plate. To top it off, she swiftly diced a few green onions and scattered them across the top. Clarke examined her work, the warm tones of the sauced scallops against the vibrant green herbs. It sure looked good. She popped a scallop into her mouth.

Sweet tender scallops plus the kick of the sauce… Clarke closed her eyes and chewed luxuriantly. Yes.

Clarke had gotten up early, late night be damned, to go to the restaurant and test out recipes for the upcoming banquet. Even though she trusted her instincts as a chef, she had to admit, the pressure of the collaboration was making her a little nervous. With her deadpan wit and snobby remarks, Anya seemed to be on another level of hardass. And it wasn’t hard to tell she was feeling ambivalent about their collaboration. What if she wasn’t impressed?

Clarke shook her head and roamed to the fridge to grab more soft herbs. She had to prove that Arcadia was worth Lexa’s investment and Anya’s respect. A lot of pressure rested on this banquet, so she would do what she always did and rise to the fucking occassion.

If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen and go back to selling soft serve at Dairy Queen. Ha. That gave her an idea, actually… something sweet to contrast the seafood. Clarke found a thick bar of bittersweet chocolate and threw it on the oven with a knob of butter. The luscious smell of melting chocolate filled her with determination. 

Clarke checked the grimy kitchen clock. Lexa was coming in just under twelve hours. This food was going to have to be really good. Good enough to knock her designer-brand socks off.

Or her panties.

Whatever.

  
  


.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new post schedule babes-  
> i'm doing shorter chapters since i'm a distractable disaster, but i'm going to update every week until this is done. on sundays. promise.
> 
> also, everyone who has commented - THANK YOU!!! your comments feed me and make me stronnnnggggg  
> ;)


	5. Taste Test

Friday, 2:30pm, Arcadia Restaurant

 

Lexa sat in the car and took a moment to collect herself. She smoothed out her hair in the mirror quickly, giving herself a brief concession for professional vanity. Then she walked into Arcadia restaurant to find Clarke. She noticed that the cook who had been injured, Jasper, was back at his post again, wearing his goggles and chatting as he sauted.

“Lexa,” Clarke greeted her, smiling sunnily. “I’m glad you made it. I’ve got some dishes to show you.” She cocked her head to a door near the kitchen. “Would you mind eating in the prep kitchen? We can talk easily in there, it’s not so loud.”

Lexa followed Clarke into a small, spartan room with a brushed steel table and black-and-white tiled floor.

“Sit down, I’ll be right back.”

Lexa did as she was told and Clarke bustled out of the room. She returned a moment later carrying several plates and a handful of silverware. The stale little room immediately filled with mingling, savory smells.

“Excuse the boring room,” Clarke said with a cocky little smile. She leaned across the table and pushed a plate in front of Lexa. “But try this.”

Lexa took a forkful of meat glazed with a dark, sweet sauce.

“Do you like it?” Clarke Griffin said. “There’s a turmeric reduction on it. I thought you’d enjoy it, given what I know of your taste in cocktails. You favor deep, complex flavors.” She gave Lexa what might have been a pointed stare.

“I suppose you do know my taste in cocktails,” Lexa said as she took another bite. There it was, an indirect acknowledgement of that night. “Although I’m sure there’s more to food than can be extrapolated from a single night out for drinks.”

“I’m confident I can make something that will satisfy your tastes,” Clarke said with exaggerated sauciness, and laughed at the double entendre.

“It’s more important to satisfy the patrons of our banquet,” Lexa said. “However, I’m fully confident that you and Anya’s partnership will achieve this… This is magnificent.”

Clarke nodded. “Great. Try this.”

Lexa ate while Clarke watched eagerly. “It’s actually inspired by baby back ribs, you know… but the seared corn and crisp radicchio class it up.”

“You’re giving people comfort food disguised as modernist cuisine?”

“Most people still crave down-to-earth food,” Clarke said. “Even if they are going to a hundred-dollar-a-head banquet. So that’s what I give them. It’s just that I give them the best damn baby back ribs you’ve ever had, that’s all.”

Lexa pulled a small golden-brown prism of something off of her plate.

“And this?”

“Those are Raven’s invention. Dehydrated and 3d-printed saffron sweet potato prisms.”

“Is this still a familiar childhood comfort food?”

“Well, for one: we dabble in molecular gastronomy. It’s part of our reputation. And two: It’s essentially a potato chip. Try it.”

Lexa did. It was the most sophisticated potato chip she’d ever had, but yes: the satisfying crunch was the same.

“You’re full of surprises,” Lexa said.

“That’s my intention,” Clarke said. “Our food is exciting, but not frivolous. It’s delicious and interesting. I have a diverse set of people here, and I think our menu reflects those talents.” She walked over and leaned against the table next to Lexa. Lexa caught her gaze.

“Arcadia hasn’t been taken seriously by critics in the past,” Lexa said. “You’ve suffered because you’ve been perceived as gimmicky.”

Clarke shook her head, frustration clouding her face. Obviously, she didn’t appreciate hearing her restaurant’s name impugned.

“And I believe that’s unfair,” Lexa added quickly. “Arcadia must be perceived as a legitimate restaurant.”

“What does the famous entrepreneur Lexa propose we should do?” Clarke challenged.

“I think you need to remodel the dining area,” Lexa said. “I’ll allocate funds for that. That way you can de-associate yourself with the former management’s era.”

Clarke furrowed her brow.

“Your food is good,” Lexa emphasized. “You don’t have the credibility you deserve because Arcadia’s former owner made poor decisions.”

“And you believe you know better?” Clarke crossed her arms and looked down at Lexa. “Pike thought he knew what was best for our restaurant as well.”

“I’m not trying to commandeer control, Clarke,” Lexa said. “You know that I’m right. You and your staff have the skills and prowess you need, but you’re not going to get the recognition and patronage you deserve unless you repair your reputation.”

Lexa was alarmed. Obviously this was a sensitive topic for Clarke.

She added softly, “I wouldn’t force you to do anything you know isn’t right for Arcadia.”

Clarke seemed to mull it over.  A hint of mirth colored her voice. “The fake steampunk decorations _are_ out of style at this point.”

Lexa nodded and pushed her chair back, looking up at Clarke. “A remodel will bring in new customers. The public will see what I see in you.”

“What’s that?” Clarke raised her eyebrows.

Lexa cleared her throat.

“I’m glad you liked the food. I know it’s not as fancy as our last little outing,” Clarke pressed on. She took a forkful off Lexa’s plate. “Do you mind? Hungry after the shift.”

Lexa smiled and leaned back in her chair. Sure, it was a little informal for a managerial meeting, but certainly not the most unprofessional moment they’d had together.

“I have one more thing for you.” Clarke opened the door to the walk-in freezer and emerged holding a tray loaded with bottles and containers. She set a frosted-glass plate in front of Lexa. She watched as Clarke smeared a rich blue sauce across the plate, and then decanted two perfect chilled spheres of ice cream, one a creamy caramel color, another vividly striped with red and pink. Next came a sprinkle of glittering silver shards that shone across the dark sauce like stars. She poured a dark liquid across the surface and then turned to meet Lexa’s eye.

“Want to do the fun part?”

Clarke handed Lexa a dainty silver spoon with a dark chunk of chocolate in it. Lexa held it cautiously. Clarke leaned down beside her and touched a lighter to the spoon. Lexa gasped as the spoon’s contents flared into flame.

Clarke placed her hand over Lexa’s and tipped the little burning comet onto the plate. Slender blue flames suddenly wreathed the dish, and the smell of caramelizing sugar wafted up to Lexa’s nose. The plate had transformed into a colorful galactic tableau.

“This is beautiful,” Lexa said.

The alcoholic darkness of the sauce mingled with the sweet taste of fruit ice cream in Lexa’s mouth.

“What’s this flavor?”

“That one’s elderberry, that one’s salted caramel,” Clarke said. “Blueberry-chocolate compote sauce on the plate, and good old cognac for the flambe. All of which I assembled in house this morning, including the ice cream. I know for a fact you can’t get anything like this anywhere else in the city.”

Lexa liked the dessert a lot. She appreciated all the effort that Clarke must have put into it. She was truly dedicated.

“Thank you, Clarke,” she said. “I don’t suppose you want to join me in eating this?”

Clarke grabbed a spoon and took a bite. “I can enjoy my own work I suppose.”

“You’ve impressed me, Chef Griffin,” Lexa admitted.

“I may have been trying to,” Clarke said. “ I had to show you that Arcadia is great in our own way. Especially after you showed us such a good night at Polaris bar… I didn’t want you to think we were incapable of sophistication.”

Lexa swallowed. The mention of the night hung heavily in the air for a moment.

“Is your cook alright?” she said after a pause. “I saw he was working again...”

Clarke nodded. “Jasper’s fine.” Another long pause. Lexa’s nerves prickled, and here was the thing she had been so carefully avoiding...  The meeting was over. Should she go? She knew she should, there was nothing more to say about the banquet. Except she didn’t want to, she knew what she wanted, the question was whether Clarke could possibly feel the same. This was the wrong setting for these sorts of confessions.  Unbecoming of a professional, Titus’s voice hissed. She stood up.

“Clarke,” Lexa started carefully, forcing herself to speak despite the frenzy of uncertainty that gripped her. “I should acknowledge what happened between us on Tuesday night… I understand any professional reservations you might have against actions.” 

“I was wondering if you would ever bring that up,” Clarke said. She raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. “It wasn’t our most professional moment.”

Lexa struggled for the appropriate words. What did Clarke mean? All of a sudden, she was panicking. She continued, stilted and awkward.  “If I abused my power, or any obligation you may feel towards me...” 

“I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I didn’t want to,” Clarke said plainly. “Of course, some people would say that any hooking up between coworkers is a mistake.”

So Clarke just saw it as a hookup, a mistake. It was ridiculous of her to have hoped. Clarke was so full of light and love, and the sex didn’t mean so much to her as it apparently did to Lexa. And it was foolish to conduct any sort of romance… or sex… with a co worker and collaborator. Clarke was smart enough to know that.

Lexa nodded, eyes downcast.

“Yes,” she said. “It would be reckless. I will respect your wishes.”

She moved to turn away, but Clarke stayed her with a warm hand on her arm.

“I’ve been accused of being reckless before,” Clarke said. And then she was leaning in with a conspiratorial smile, her hand moving down to twine her fingers between Lexa’s.

“You know,” Clarke murmured. “We could just not tell anyone.”

Lexa froze for a fraction of a second, unwilling or unable to believe the universe had been this kind to her. Then she fell into Clarke’s kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i'm lexabucky on tumblr!
> 
> i love your comments more than clarke loves a good smooch in the prep kitchen  
> updates on sundays


	6. Raven reinvents Cheez Whiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven is innovative despite distressing circumstances. Clarke and Lexa talk about employee benefits.

 

_ Monday, Arcadia Restaurant, 10:00am _

Octavia had 10 roast pheasants to dismantle. She’d just had her favorite knife sharpened, and when she tilted the blade in the light, she saw a glimpse of her face. Nice and shiny. Jasper had gone for the kitchen stereo aux cord, but Octavia beat him to it and had some nice loud Miranda Lambert  blasting. But something still felt off. She slid the blade into the first pheasant, dead through the spine, and neatly separated it into two halves. Usually, she would get right into the guts of things with gusto. She loved chopping stuff up. But for whatever reason, she wasn’t feeling it today. 

Maybe it had something to do with the new hire, Ontari. This was her first time working with the new cook, and something about her seemed a little sinister. When Octavia introduced herself, Ontari had more sneered than smiled. She always looked like she smelled something rotten, her round face always had a downward twist to it. She also had lots stick-and-poke tattoos on her knuckles and arms, which Octavia actually thought was pretty cool. 

“Nice stick n pokes. I like the bear. I have one of those too. I’d show you, but it’s on my ass,” Octavia said jovially.

Ontari had just sneered again.

“Okay then,” Octavia muttered. She gave up on trying to socialize with the new hire after that.

At least Bellamy was working later. That was usually fun, when he wasn’t being a dickhead. She sawed away at the poultry in front of her dutifully.

“Guess who got the best grade in class on her robotics midterm?” 

“Raven! I wasn’t expecting you today!” Octavia put down her knife and raised her hand for a high five. Their hands connected with a crisp slap, then Octavia pulled her down into a tight handshake. Raven was grinning wide, and just like that, Octavia’s bad mood evaporated. “Fuck yes, dude.”

“Not to brag, but my professor said my invention was a shoe-in for the Young and Upcoming award at my university’s engineering program this year. That comes with a big scholarship.” Raven brushed imaginary dust off her shoulders, relishing her victory.  “Moving up in this world.”

“This calls for celebration,” Octavia said. She grabbed her ipod and changed the music to Raven’s favorite band.

“Ratatat? Aw, Octavia, you turned off your country murder ballads for me?” Raven said happily once she recognized the fuzzed-out electronic beat swelling from the kitchen boombox.

Raven lugged over her plastic tub and set it next to Octavia. You could tell it was hers because of the silver duct tape with  “RAVEN’S STUFF” written in Sharpie. Raven kept it full of all sorts of stuff that only she used. She’d cobbled half of it together herself. Octavia watched her pull out a ring of measuring spoons with at least 3 times as many spoons as normal, a kitchen scale with an additional battery pack and 8-digit LED display wired onto it, and a beaker of some sort.

Octavia nodded her head and swung her hips as the music built to a high-energy crescendo. Raven measured out hyper-specific quantities of spices and tossed them into her mixing bowl in time with the beat.

“You’re not going to get so many scholarships that you don’t work here anymore, right?” Octavia said suddenly. 

“Nah,” Raven said. “I like the work here, it’s fun and mindless. Plus I’d miss you all.”

“So what did you invent that’s so special, little miss Elon Musk?” Octavia asked.

“It’s a robotic smart assistant for elderly people with health risks,” Raven said. “It’s going to be multi-use, but it has a speaker and can do reminders for people with dementia. It sends out health alerts. And it should be solar-powered backup, so that it can still function in places where the power is out. ”

“Wow,” Octavia said. 

“I sort of reverse engineered it from a roomba,” Raven said.

“Wow,” Octavia repeated. Raven really was brilliant. “That’s incredible.”

They worked in amicable silence for a while.

“Hey, you don’t usually work Mondays. Did you change your schedule?”

“Finn’s taking time off,” Raven said, a bit of an edge to her voice.  “I’m covering some of his shifts.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Raven said. “I just did this because Clarke asked me too. I haven’t been talking to him.”

She jabbed her tablespoon into a tin of turmeric so hard that it sent a puff of orange powder into the air. 

Octavia didn’t know what to say to that, so she cranked up Raven’s tunes.

“Okay, now, this is going to be cool if it works right.” Raven pulled a silver cannister out of her box and dumped the contents of her mixing bowl into it. She fiddled with a couple of knobs on the top and then shook the entire device.

“Is this for today’s lunch?” Octavia asked.

“Depends on how good it tastes.” Raven aimed the cannister at a plate and pressed the end. A stream of pale yellow foam escaped from the other end and piled up in a perfect spiral on the plate.

“Looks cheez whiz,” Octavia said.

“It kind of is. Try it.”

Octavia scooped her index finger into the foam and tasted. It was really good, like a cloud made of buttery sweet and nutty cheese.

“Turmeric-garlic gouda whiz, actually,” Raven said. 

“Watch out,” Ontari said flatly, bumping against Raven as she walked past with a tureen slopping with soup.

Raven winced, her hand flying to her leg. Her cheese-foam contraption clattered on the table. 

“Hey, watch out!” Octavia said. Ontari didn’t even look back. She touched Raven. “Are you okay?”

Raven furrowed her brow. “Yeah. It’s fine. Just my leg.” She inspected her invention for damage. ”Ontari seems...”

“She’s kind of a bitch,” Octavia muttered.

“Damn,” Raven said. She shrugged. “Well, as long as she’s good at cooking, right?”

“Clarke hired her, so… I guess she must be.” Actually, Octavia had a prickling grudge building against Ontari, but she was trying to take a page out of Raven’s book and be more forgiving of others. 

 

_ Monday, Arcadia Restaurant, 3:00pm _

“I have a proposal for incorporating a more equitable system of gratuity distribution among front-of-house and back-of-house staff that I’d like to discuss with you,” Lexa said. She  held a creamy folder with gold-embossed letters out to Clarke. 

“Ms. Foster, good to see you,” Clarke said. “Let’s discuss it in my office.” She made an  _ after-you _ gesture. Clarke caught a hint of Lexa’s musky-piney scent as she followed her downstairs. Lexa always did smell good, working that men’s cologne better than any man could pull off. 

“I’m interested in instating a salary system that will allow for more sustainable careers from your cooks,” Lexa said as they entered the office, opening her neat folder of papers.  “The restaurant industry has historically-”

Clarke quietly shut the door behind them.

“I’m sorry if I smell like bacon,” Clarke said by way of greeting.  She’d been cooking all morning, bacon and omelettes and pancakes, and probably smelled like brunch in a blender. 

Lexa looked quizzically at Clarke with those solemn green eyes. “That’s a bit of a non-sequitur,” she said. 

“Just thought I’d warn you,” she said. Clarke took the folder from Lexa’s hands, set it on the table, and kissed her gently.

Clarke had begun to notice something about Lexa. In between the fierce kisses, underneath the sharp dressing, she showed moments of surprising softness. Lexa played the slick professional very well, and she certainly had more style than anyone else Clarke knew, but then there was an endearing vulnerability underneath it. It showed in moments like these, when she was caught by surprise. Lexa kissed Clarke back eagerly, instantly. 

“Clarke, this is an important budget revision, Indra worked hard on this,” Lexa chided her.

“Yeah,” Clarke murmured. “I’m sure she did.” She took off her chef’s jacket. 

“You thought I came here for purely personal reasons, then?” Lexa said after a longer kiss. “We do have a job to do here.” It was hard to take Lexa’s scolding seriously when her eyes kept moving to the sweat-moistened skin visible beneath Clarke’s tank top.

“All employees are entitled to a 20 minute break per shift. As long as you’re talking labor laws.”

Lexa didn’t need any more encouragement, and shut up about the salaries. They kissed again, without urgency. Just sweet, easy kisses. Happy kisses, Clarke realized. Lexa pressed her strong fingertips down the aching muscles of Clarke’s back. 

“You’re tense,” she said. 

“All wound up from work,” Clarke said.

“Is everything alright?” Lexa tilted her head in concern. She kneaded Clarke’s back more purposefully, seeking out the tense spots. 

“Yeah!” Clarke said. “Now it is.” She liked the massage but kissing was better, so she kissed Lexa again. The lazy slow kisses turned a little more urgent, a little hungrier. Clarke moved her hands over Lexa’s slight, sinewy curves, rumpling her tight silk shirt. Despite her lean frame Lexa had very nice round butt. Clarke continued to explore, unbuttoning Lexa’s pants so she could dip her fingers down between her legs. Lexa dug her fingers into Clarke’s hips hard, holding her against her as Clarke worked against Lexa’s slick cunt.

The beginning of a moan slipped out of Lexa’s mouth before she caught herself and pressed a hand to her lips. Clarke worked her fingers deeper into Lexa while she kissed her. Everything dropped away except for her feverish concentration on Lexa. Lexa’s body started to twitch, a gasp interrupting her mouth on Clarke’s.

“Clarke,” Lexa said, helplessly, “I’m gonna...”

Clarke pressed a hand against Lexa’s mouth as she came. Her long-lashed eyes fluttered and she placed her own hand over Clarke’s, holding tight. When she  finished, she sagged back against the wall, slackened and contented. 

Lexa looked strangely adorable in that moment, breathing hard, pants unbuttoned and flashing some boxers, a pink flush across her patrician cheekbones. A little bit undone. After a few deep breaths, eyes closed, she looked up at Clarke and smiled shyly.

“You’ll have to give me a moment to gather myself,” Lexa said, clearing her throat. “That was a somewhat distracting tangent.” 

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Clarke said. She adjusted her ponytail, pulling back up. It had come a little undone. Lexa tucked her shirt back into her pants. Her collar was askew, and Clarke smoothed it back down. “Now we can deal with the paperwork,” Clarke said. She cupped Lexa’s face between her own and gave her a final little kiss. “If we must.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm lexabucky on tumblr. as always, your comments FEED ME!!!!!! i'm committed to a chapter each week. please accept this somewhat smaller offering... sorry it's little.
> 
> shoutout to the AMAZING spacewalkerravenreyes on tumblr, the Raven Expert who helped me figure out that Raven probably listens to complex high-energy electronica music... like Ratatat! if you want to feel like Raven Reyes, I'd suggest "Loud Pipes" by them. Really helps me get in touch with my inner engineer. (I don't have one, but I love Ratatat.)


	7. Masterchef: Anya

_ Monday, Lexa’s Apartment, 11:49pm _

 

Lexa did another set of ten pushups, pumping her arms up and down until her muscles ached. She let herself fall flat then, whole body turned to jelly, one cheek pressed against her yoga mat. She rested there a moment and then dragged herself up to a sitting position. Lengthened spine, calves folded, hands loose and calm. 

Her phone blipped, and she immediately jolted at the hope it might be Clarke. Not that it should be, since tomorrow she had a business lunch, several order confirmations, and a college student interviewing her for a podcast about LGBT people in business. Plenty of other reasons for people to text, all of which she could deal with after her bedtime stretching routine. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

Lexa maintained her meditation posture but opened her eyes slightly and shifted her gaze to her phone. 

It was from Clarke. Elated, exercise-induced sleepiness gone, Lexa grabbed her phone.

**Hi ;)**

The text was followed by a photo of Clarke, a selfie. It was most likely taken in a bar bathroom or something, with graffiti-scrawled bathroom stalls behind her. Clarke’s blue eyes were all lit up, teeth flashing in an uninhibited boozy smile. Her tank top was pulled down, exposing the shadow of her breasts and the corner of one pink nipple.

**Wish you were here ;)**

Lexa suddenly had a wild desire to throw on some clothes, jump in her car, drive to whatever hilarious gross bar Clarke was at. She restrained herself. She’d already seen Clarke that day. Their meeting in the office had gone… off schedule. Of course she wanted to go see Clarke more. But there was no question that she shouldn’t interrupt her night for this any more than she already had. Her mindfulness meditation was already completely shattered by the knowledge that somewhere out there, Clarke was out unwinding and texting like a rowdy teenager. Clarke truly was something. 

She couldn’t do this tonight. No. There was too much she had to handle tomorrow. 

**You should really come over ;) ;) Everyone is heading home early, and besides, Raven and Octavia wouldn’t tell...**

Lexa took a deep, meditative breath, and summoned all her willpower.

Clarke sent another picture, this time from inside the bathroom stall, sans tank top.

Willpower was a limited resource, even for Lexa. She headed for the door.

 

 

_ Tuesday, Arcadia Restaurant, 6:30 am _

Clarke’s phone alarm went off. It was the  _ Imagine Dragons _ ringtone that she used when she knew she absolutely needed to be annoyed into waking up. This was embarrassing, though, because Lexa was sprawled in bed next to her. Lexa sleepily wrinkled her nose at the noise. Clarke popped up to slam the snooze button and then dove back into bed next to Lexa.

“Morning,” Lexa said. She pushed herself back against Clarke like an affectionate cat, twining their fingers together.

“Hi,” Clarke said, her voice cracking with sleepiness. “I’m glad you came over last night.” She kissed Lexa’s shoulder. “It’s too bad I can’t sleep in. Anya’d be mad, right?”

Lexa roused herself, sitting up in bed. “You’re meeting with Anya today?”

“Yeah. Making a menu.”

Lexa raised her eyebrows. “You picked an exceptional night for a booty call if you have an early morning appointment with Anya.”

Clarke knew that might be true, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She savored one more kiss, the cocoon of  warmth that their bodies had made lying next to each other.

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Lexa said. “Best of luck. She’s a morning person.”

“I’ll tell her you said hi.” 

“That would certainly start your meeting on an uncomfortable note,” Lexa said. 

As Clarke drove to work, she wondered exactly what she was in for.

Today’s meeting with Anya was so she could familiarize herself with Arcadia’s kitchen and so they could check out possible menu options. Raven had some great ideas involving local herbs and a blowtorch.

Clarke parked her car in the still-dark Arcadia parking lot and fumblingly slid into her chef’s whites in her front seat. She was surprised to see Anya already leaning against the employee entrance, arms crossed, wreathed in cigarette smoke. 

“Chef Griffin arrives at last.”

“Hello, Chef. You’re here early,” Clarke said. If Anya was trying to rattle her by making her feel late to her own restaurant, it wasn’t going to work. She was still coated in the warm lethargy of sleepiness and the memory of cuddling Lexa. Still, she’d better brew some coffee and get sharp pronto.

Anya stubbed out her cigarette and followed Clarke into the restaurant. 

“So, how do you usually open in space-age Arcadia?” Anya said, her eyes flickering over the ranges. 

“We can expect my sous’s any minute,” Clarke said. She flipped through her clipboard. “I’ll go over the dishes with him, check the cooler.” 

Anya strolled through the kitchen, tracing her fingers along the surfaces. She pulled a knife down from the walls, tested its sharpness with her thumb. Clarke slid past her to start a batch of coffee percolating, then headed for the range with a cutting board in hand. She pulled a carton of eggs from the lowboy fridge compartment beneath the station, then shuffled through to find a green pepper, some leftover sausage, and a container of herbs. It would do.

“And this...”

“Family breakfast,”

“Aren’t you a kind chef,” Anya said.

“It’s really best for everyone. It lets us use up some extra ingredients, and keeps everyone in a good mood for these early mornings. It’s part of taking care of each other,” Clarke said.

“Actually, believe it or not, we do the same thing over in our  _ strict and terrible _ kitchen,” Anya said. 

Clarke diced the pepper quickly as Anya watched, leaning on her low fridge. “Your pepper looks like a five year old took a slap-chop to it,” Anya said. “Or is that the Arcadia way?”

Clarke knew she could chop up a damn pepper. What she didn’t totally understand was was what Anya was playing at here. 

“Just some friendly banter,” Anya said.  

Clarke was pretty sure she was just messing with her. 

“Maybe you should make the omelettes,” Clarke said. “Show me how it’s done.” 

“Maybe I should.” Clarke watched her knife fly over the basil leaves.

“Well, usually I like to chiffonade my herbs instead of mashing them to a pulp, but maybe that’s just the Arcadia way,” Clarke said, casually.

Anya froze for a moment, nostrils flaring, and then she dispatched the rest of the herbs in a 5-second flurry of chopping.

“Just a little friendly banter,” Clarke said. “Come on, Chef. Look.”

Anya tipped her head in assent.

The peppers on the cutting board were diced into a perfect pile of tiny cubes, the basil leaves were a gorgeous delicate pile of tendrils. 

“You’re a highly trained professional. So am I. So let’s stop pretending we don’t know that we’re both the best at what we do.”

Clarke began to assemble the omelettes.

“Anya, I know you’re dubious about us collaborating,” Clarke continued. “But I’m going to prove to you how good we really are. And we’re going to make the best damn banquet this city has ever seen.”

A corner of Anya’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “You’re big on the inspirational speeches, aren’t you?” she said. “Just like Lexa.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Clarke said.

“You should.”

Anya smirked. A familiar ruckus of footsteps and conversation floated in from the back of the restaurant. 

“Mmm, smells good, Chef! Early bird special for me?” Monty’s voice called.

“Me first, bitch!” Jasper yelled. There was sounds of muted puffing and laughter, and the two of them emerged, racing to the kitchen, Jasper pushing Monty backwards.

Anya crossed her arms, bemused. Jasper stopped trying to trip Monty and cocked his head at Anya.

“Oh. Um. New hire…?” Jasper asked Clarke.

“She’s the head chef from Gaia,”  Monty hissed. “You idiot.”

“Sorry, I should have known,” Jasper said. “It’s just we had some turnover, with Finn gone and now Ontari...”

“Ontari?” Anya turned to Clarke, dead serious. “You hired someone named Ontari?”

“Recently, yeah,” Clarke said.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Clarke didn’t understand Anya’s sudden anger.

“Why would I call you about my restaurant...” 

“She worked. At Gaia,” Anya growled. “You should have called her former employers.”

“She didn’t list Gaia on her resume,” Clarke said, suddenly getting it. “She probably didn’t want me to call you.” 

“Because I would have warned you about her. Ontari is volatile, violent, and unmanageable.”

Clarke thought of the new cook. She’d been competent enough in the kitchen, but never very friendly. “She has been unpleasant,” Clarke said. “She storms around a lot. I haven’t seen her be violent.”

“Me neither,” Monty said as he helped himself to some omelette. “Although I have to say - not a very nice person.”

“I thought maybe she was hungover,” Jasper said with a shrug.

“She was probably controlling herself. But with people like her, people with anger issues… it’s only a matter of time,” Anya said. “Chef Griffin, you should not have this woman in your kitchen.”

Clarke took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to her. If she lied on her resume, that’s grounds for firing.” 

“We’ll deal with her loss at the banquet prep,” Anya added. “I won’t have my staff working with her.”

“Of course,” Clarke said. “I’m so glad you told me.”

 

First Finn gone, and now it seemed like their taciturn new hire was a time bomb, and all with the banquet looming. How had she misjudged Ontari? Was it the stress, or was she too distracted with Lexa? Either way, they’d handle it. They would have to handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for posting this chapter late, uhgughu.... goddamn. I had some disruptions to my usual writing schedule. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this, it really means a lot and i'm glad if you get any enjoyment out of this stupid silly fic


	8. Anya Presents: Chopped!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ontari hulks out, kinda. Octavia is not sad to see her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has been blessed with the wonderful betaship of 2worldscreationsfolly (on a03, worlds-outta-words on tumblr) if you notice a marked decline is continuity errors and awkward phrasings, it's due to her.
> 
> also if u noticed i didn't keep to my scheduling quota... well, see the endnotes...

_ Tuesday, Arcadia restaurant, 2pm _

 

Clarke wasn’t too excited to fire Ontari. She didn’t relish the feeling of punishing someone, and it was always an uncomfortable situation. Mostly, whenever there was a problem, she’d talk it out and figure out what was going on. Finn was a recent example, even though he was now taking time off, down for the count. All the recent interpersonal conflict at work was making her question her abilities to lead a functional team. 

Ontari was coming in to work at 2 that afternoon, and from the looks of it, Anya was still going to be at Arcadia when Ontari arrived. Anya hadn’t gone into excessive detail on Ontari’s actions, but she’d been emphatic. She had to go. Since that morning, they’d mostly kept to talk about food.

At the moment, Anya was bantering with Raven about her cooking inventions. 

“This is very impressive, but a ph meter is unneccessary for someone with an intuitive understanding of food and flavor,” Anya said, twirling a device within her fingers.

Raven seemed delighted to be challenged. Everyone at Arcadia just took it for granted that she knew what she was doing, but Anya’s challenge gave her opportunity to enumerate her motivations.

“You’d think! But if you want to get really precise and replicate the complex flavor profiles in something fermented, a cheese or kimchi, you really need to be using this thing at every stage of the process Let me show you the difference between these two recent batches I made...”   
Clarke listened and smiled, but the needling reminder of Ontari arriving soon kept her from truly enjoying the spirited exchange.

When Ontari finally skulked into the kitchen, Anya and Clarke went silent. Ontari’s face immediately hardened with sullen defiance as soon as she saw Anya standing there. 

“Ontari, I need to talk with you,” Clarke said, the cliche-implications of the phrase heavy on her tongue. 

“Why?” she said. 

“You know why, Ontari,” Anya said. She crossed her arms sharply. “You lied to Chef Griffin.”

Clarke felt the spark of two sharp tempers about to erupt into a blaze, so she added with a practiced even-keeled tone - “Let’s just talk in my office.”

Ontari ignored her, nostrils flared, staring at Anya. If she had been a wolf, her hackles would have been raised.

“This bitch is out to get me,” she said, staring at Anya with fury. Again, louder, she spat: “This bitch is out to get me!”

“Ontari, calm down,” Clarke said, one last attempt to placate the furious cook, but to no avail. Anya’s presence had sent Ontari into a rage that burned right through any social niceties. Well, that proved Anya’s point. She was volatile. 

“You’re having me fired, huh?” Ontari said at Anya, her voice rising so loud that a passing server stopped with a startled look. “Fucking bitch.” She turned on Clarke. “You’re so fucking transparent, both of you. You just have it out for me, huh?”

Okay. Clarke had seen enough. Ontari was all up in her face now, but she didn’t flinch. 

“Ontari, you were hired under false pretenses. I can’t condone this type of bullying behavior in my restaurant. You have to leave.”

Ontari seethed silently for a moment and Clarke wondered if she was going to go for a knife. Then Anya stepped forward, leaned slightly forward so her face was an inch from Ontari’s.

“Chef Griffin is being nice to you because she hasn’t seen the kind of shit you pulled in person yet. I’m not as nice as she is. Leave now. Never come near either of our restaurants ever again. Otherwise, you can expect a world of pain worse than any temper tantrum you’ve ever thrown.” She leaned in ever closer, the words dripping with acid. “And I’ll make sure you never get hired at so much as a McDonald’s ever again.”

For a long moment, Clarke wondered if Ontari was about to stab Anya. Then she gave a wordless growl of frustration and pushed over a pile of plates, sending them clattering across the floor, and stormed out of the restaurant. Anya re-crossed her arms and watched Ontari’s exit with unimpressed contempt.

Ontari slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame.

“You can see why I didn’t want her around,” Anya said after a moment of silence.

Clarke pursed her lips. “I can.” 

Monty popped his head over the cooking range with a scared-deer expression in his brown eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Now it is,” Clarke said. 

“Ontari’s....” Monty raised his eyebrows.

“Fired, I’m afraid,” Clarke said.

“Very fired.” Anya said. 

“Ah. Ah! I see. Well...” 

“You can celebrate or mourn later,” Clarke said kindly. “Back to the seared scallops, please.”

“Yes chef!” Monty disappeared back behind his stove.

Anya leaned in to Clarke, conspiratorial half smile on her face.

“You handled that well,” Anya said. “You have good authority for such a young chef.” 

For some reason, the compliment didn’t feel backhanded.

“Thank you,” Clarke said, meaning it. 

Anya plucked a sage leaf from a box of fresh spices and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. “Where do you get your herbs? I know a local supplier, freshest possible and the flavor profile is obscene.”

“My soft herbs not good enough for you?” Clarke said lightly. “Okay, Anya, tell me whose garden you’ve been plundering.”

The uncomfortable silence created by the gash of Ontari’s anger filled back in with the sounds of cooking and chatting and customers. Clarke felt the half-giddy relief as the comfortable bustle returned and order was restored. Things were going well, despite the disturbance. Anya, ever hot-and-cold, seemed warmer now. Besides, even though Anya was a snob, she had some kickass ideas percolating. Clarke was beginning to envision the banquet - all the swanky customers enjoying their food. There’d be good reviews. It would be fun to put together, a big group effort. And then, afterwards, maybe a celebratory glass of wine with Lexa. 

  
  
  


_ Tuesday, 5pm, Bellamy’s backyard _

  
  


A large number of the restaurant crew were gathered in Bellamy’s  tiny backyard for a cookout. They’d made the most of the few square feet of scraggly grass and bare wooden patio that the backyard gave them. Monty had the boom box tuned to an upbeat pop station. Wells was pensively sipping a lemonade and chatting with Bellamy as he rotated veggie dogs on the grill. Jasper was furiously texting someone, or maybe just browsing reddit. Octavia had fetched their least-rickety lawn chair for Raven so she could stretch out her injured leg. Octavia sat next to Raven and watched her grimace as she rolled her leg back and forth, testing for pain. 

“To the very brief Arcadia career of Ontari,” Jasper said. He raised a sloshy salute with his bottle of beer.

“May she never return,” Octavia added, clinking her bottle to his. 

“Goodbye, you grumpy hellion,” Bellamy said. “Who knew she was going to turn out so terrible?”

“I did,” Octavia said darkly. Really, the news about Ontari hadn’t surprised her. Maybe because she recognized some element of Ontari’s anger, saw the signs in the way she disrespected Raven and the others. Octavia always recognized the signs of a bully.

“The other day, I thought you were going to knock her out for a minute there, Octavia,” Raven said. 

“Do you think you could take Ontari?” Bellamy said. “I mean, she’s tiny, but she’s scary.” 

“You kidding? I’d slay her,” Octavia said, with puffed-up jokey bravado. Truth was, there was a time when she absolutely would have fought Ontari. Back in high school, back when she got pissed off faster than she could stop herself. These days… who knows what would have happened if Ontari had made another shitty move around Raven, or any of them.

“One small angry fireball versus another,” Raven said.  “I always thought you’d make a good action hero, Octavia.”

Octavia made a strongman muscle-flexing pose with her arms and growled. “I’d be a badass! Like Lara Croft, but less snobby.” 

“Nah. You’re a Xena,” Raven countered.

“Yeah,” Octavia agreed. “You could be Gabrielle.”

“I’d be a wizard,” Raven said. Octavia pouted at being shot down, but she knew it was true. Raven was no sidekick.

“Technomancy! You’d be a technomancer!” Jasper added, looking up from his phone. “It’s mechanical wizardry.”

“She does that already, idiot,” Octavia said. 

“I wish Anya would come to our cookouts,” Raven said. “She was badass, and she knew what she was talking about.”

“She’s so fucking cool. But she wouldn’t come hang out in Bellamy’s disgusting backyard,” Octavia said, speaking the last words loud enough that Bellamy could hear. Bellamy lobbed a baby carrot at her from the porch.

“Too bad,” Raven said. She smiled again. “So fucking cool.”

“Got a crush?” Octavia nudged her.

“A crush?” Raven went a bit pensive. “I didn’t think I could feel anything besides sad about Finn for a while there. But now, the pain has lessened. I miss him but...” she looked at Octavia, warm brown eyes crinkled with a smile. “The earth still spins.”

Raven shrugged slightly and gave a small smile. Relief welled in Octavia at the sight of Raven

“That’s good! I never liked that boy anyway.”

“You did! You drunkenly told me you thought he was cute like four hundred times,” Raven said.

“Whatever. I just liked his haircut,” Octavia insisted. “You’re way hotter than that… muffin.”

“You think?” Raven said. “Hm! That’s a nice data point to have.”

It’s true, Octavia thought. But if Raven was getting over Finn, was she really crushing on Anya? It would make sense, but Octavia didn’t like it. Not because she thought Anya wasn’t cool, but there was something else. 

_ I want you to like me, Raven, _ Octavia thought. The thought made her cringe, but there it was. A crush. A big, gooey crush. Ugh.

“So… Anya?” Octavia added again, jokey and casual, but Raven waved her away. 

“You’re no fun,” Octavia lied.

Jasper sidled over and leaned against a tree.  “So uh… Monty said he’d buy me Taco Bell if I can beat you in an arm wrestle, Octavia.”

“Ha!” Raven shot an incredulous glance at Octavia. They shared in moment of disbelieving amusement as the gangly boy waited in front of him.

“Come on, there’s a Crunch Wrap in this for me,” Jasper pleaded.

“I’m not sure there is,” Raven said. “Octavia, will you take this challenge?”

Octavia’s heart fluttered at Raven’s sly in-joke gaze, the gaze that was clearly saying _ crush that boy into the lawn. _ These crush feelings, once acknowledged, were not going to be easy to ignore.

Beating Jasper at armwrestling though? Octavia smirked, rolled up her sleeve. That she could handle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i have no good reason that i missed my schedule. except i'm a disorganized disaster. sorry about that. anyway, i'm gonna do a new update schedule that works better with my new work schedule... expect updates by... soon (another edit: i don't think i'm ever going to make any schedule of edits, sorry,..s.df,a.sd,f .amsdf,)
> 
> my tumblr is now  
> gettingheda.tumblr.com
> 
> if you want to ask me about updates or anything, feel free to give me a poke there. 
> 
> i am so appreciative of everyone who reads this terrible fic. thank u. bleshup.


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